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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841149">Sometimes, Home Is a Person</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74'>houdini74</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>An alarming amount of very domestic fluff, Communication is hard but everyone is trying, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone is friends with Ronnie except Patrick and maybe Clint, F/M, Future Fic, Husbands in love, M/M, No Angst, POV Multiple, Parent-Child Relationship, Patrick is a troll and he learned it from his mom, Post-Canon, So much softness you could knit a blanket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:34:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>144,867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after David and Patrick’s wedding, Clint and Marcy decide to move to Schitt’s Creek. This time, David's not the only one who has to come to terms with his family.</p><p>Story is complete, updates will be posted on Tuesdays and Saturdays</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Brewer/Marcy Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>619</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Meet the Parents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is what happens when I take all of my heart canons about David and Patrick's future and shove them into one fic. Apparently, that results in 140,000 words of domestic fluff and nonsense. As a tribute to Dan Levy, and because I didn't want to fix it, I've hand waved everything to do with seasonality and the time of the year. It's always summer in Schitt's Creek.</p><p>Thanks to MirandaPanda who planted the seed for this story by leaving a comment on one of my Clint and Marcy stories asking if Clint and Marcy could move to Schitt's Creek.  And thanks to the Rosebudd cheerleading squad, who assured me that everyone would definitely want to read something this long.  Finally, the biggest thanks to missgeevious for beta reading the entire thing and catching so many problems, to RhetoricalQuestions for doing a sensitivity read for Priya, and to anotherhero for loaning the character of Dulce.</p><p>Title from A Million Suns by Beth Revis</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>He’s late. David dashes across the street, just short of an undignified run, dodging around the pothole in the middle of the street. He’s late and they’ll never find his body after Patrick murders him. Or Patrick’s eyes will be soft and disappointed, which is even worse. He has half an hour. That’s just enough time to eat breakfast with Stevie and make it back to the store by nine-thirty. Patrick will have plenty of time to get to Heather Warner’s farm by ten. Not like last week. He flings open the door to the cafe, panting.</p><p>He always meets Stevie for breakfast on Wednesdays. Or at least he does on the weeks when she’s in town. And that means he has to get up even earlier than normal, so he’s usually late, hence his current predicament. Stepping inside the cafe, he tugs at his clothes and forces his breath out through his nose. Every seat is full, a constant source of annoyance since Twyla took over the cafe five years ago. He wrinkles his nose as he finds Stevie sitting at the counter, a pained look on her face as she chats to the couple seated next to her. A trickle of sweat runs down his back as he slides into the seat next to her and waits impatiently for Stevie to pay attention to him. </p><p>Against his will, he finds himself eying the couple. The woman’s black hair is cut into a blunt bob that only accents her sharp and unforgiving features. Beside her, the man’s loud Hawaiian shirt makes David cringe at his lack of sartorial judgement. He makes a face as Stevie leans back to include him in the conversation and she raises one eyebrow knowingly.</p><p>“Look who’s here. You took so long that I had to make some new friends.” There’s a dryness to Stevie’s voice that a stranger might take as humor. “This is Diane and Jack Pearson.” The man offers his unmanicured hand and David hesitates before gingerly reaching past Stevie to shake it.  </p><p>“Hi.” He retrieves his fingers from Jack’s crushing grip at the first opportunity, scooping up the cup of coffee Twyla slides towards him.</p><p>“What brings you to town?” Jack’s voice matches his shirt, it’s far too boisterous for first thing in the morning.</p><p>“I live here.” The coffee is hot and strong and sweet. He sighs happily as the sugar and caffeine soak into his bloodstream. “That’s my store across the street.” What will it take to get these people to stop talking to him? He pauses a beat longer than is polite. “And you?”</p><p>“We are just such big fans of Moira Rose.” Diane’s face lights up as she pats Jack’s arm. “When we found out that this was the town where she’d lived, we just had to make the trip to see if for ourselves.” Diane pauses, her head cocked to one side like one the herons in the nature programs that Patrick likes to watch, poised in the moments before they jab their beaks into the water to catch a fish. “With your wardrobe, I would have thought you were here for the same reason.” Diane gestures to his hand-selected Givenchy sweater from the summer 2018 collection.</p><p>“This is just how I look.” His stomach growls. Where is Twyla? He tries to catch her attention, but she’s occupied with a table on the far side of the restaurant.</p><p>“Are you also a fan of Moira Rose, David?” He glares at his so-called best friend. She smirks back at him and takes a bite of her eggs. He scowls doubly hard at her plate. He wasn’t that late.</p><p>“Um. Not as much as you’d think.” Why are these people here? He very much wishes they would go away. </p><p>“Have you seen her in Sunrise Bay? The focus and intensity she brings to Vivian Blake...I have all the old episodes on VHS so I can watch them every day. Jack wanted to go digital but I convinced him it just wouldn’t be the same.” Diane sighs happily. David rolls his eyes. No one should sound that happy about his mom. “And now, with the reboot...well, it’s just criminal that she didn’t win an Emmy last year.”</p><p>“Yeah...criminal.” He’d spent two hours on the phone, talking his mom down after Joyce DeWitt won in the Best Actress category last year and it’s two hours of his life that he never wants to revisit. Beside him, Stevie makes a strangled noise that’s almost certainly a laugh. David does his best to give her the cold shoulder, a near impossibility in their close quarters.</p><p>“I always wanted to visit Sunrise Bay.” Diane continues, oblivious to David’s discomfort or Stevie’s amusement. “When Vivian Blake died in that tragic hot air balloon accident, I wept for days.”</p><p>“That was tragic. Don’t you think that was tragic, David?” Stevie grins at him. Eyes narrowed, he steals a piece of her bacon. Inadequate payment for this level of abuse so early in the morning.</p><p>“Yes. It was...tragic.” He can rise above this. Stevie probably sat with these people on purpose because she knew how much he’d hate it. “You know what else is tragic? That I don’t have any breakfast.” David finally catches Twyla’s eye long enough to order the pancakes. Somehow, Diane is still talking.</p><p>Diane peers at him, leaning forward to gaze past Stevie, who obligingly shifts back in her seat. “You look so familiar…” He freezes, coffee cup raised halfway to his mouth. If this woman recognizes him…he’s almost happy when she starts talking again. “Anyway, my favorite moment was when Vivian was thrown through that skylight. She had to stay in that body cast the entire time they filmed those scenes. Can you imagine? Such courage.”</p><p>“Nooo.” This is hell. Hell isn’t fire and brimstone, it’s filled with middle-aged women who won’t shut up about his mom. It’s been an eternity since he sat down, but Twyla finally sets a plate in front of him. The smell of pancakes and bacon fills his senses, making his mouth water.</p><p>“And then there was the spelunking incident.” This can’t be real. He kicks Stevie beneath the counter, hoping she'll change the topic of conversation, but she ignores him, listening intently as Diane speaks, the corners of her mouth flickering upwards as she tries to kick him back. “Did you know they left Moira in that cave overnight so that her scenes would be more realistic? Moira is so brave.”</p><p>“Yeah, so brave.” His mom had taken a mountain of pills before those scenes. The producers had left her in that cave, which was more of a hollow in the hillside, because she was high and she had refused to leave.</p><p>Finally, Diane pushes her chair back. “Jack, we should go.” David takes another bite of his pancakes, hiding his relief. “We’re going to tour the town. We want to see the motel where Moira lived and have our pictures taken with the town sign.” </p><p>“Have a great time!” Stevie’s using the customer service voice that she’s perfected ever since she started taking her job seriously. David hates it. Jack and Diane leave the cafe, loudly describing the time Vivian Blake stole her own baby until the door clicks closed behind them.</p><p>“What’s your favorite Vivian Blake scene, David?” Stevie blinks at him innocently. “I bet Diane would be very interested to know.” </p><p>“What just happened?” He takes another bite of the pancakes. They’re delicious, another of the positive changes that Twyla has implemented. He waves his fork at Stevie. “Whatever that was, it had better not happen again.”</p><p>David races through the rest of his pancakes, dashing across the road for the second time that morning, just making it to the store by nine thirty five. “Sorry, there was this couple and they wouldn’t shut up about my mom and…”</p><p>At the sound of the bell, Patrick turns towards him, phone pressed to one ear. Patrick angles his cheek as David passes by him into the back room. It’s an invitation David can’t refuse and he willingly presses a soft kiss to his temple, one hand instinctively caressing his husband’s shoulder, seeking any excuse to touch.</p><p>“Okay...well, I’ll talk to David...yes...okay...yes...I love you guys too...okay...bye.” Patrick wraps up his call as David joins him at the counter. His hand slips back to Patrick’s shoulder, a magnet to a piece of iron. What did he do with his hands before Patrick? Patrick’s shoulders have been the place his hands have called home even before they were married five years ago.</p><p>“Talk to me about what?” </p><p>Patrick kisses him the way Patrick always kisses him, his lips are soft and confident, it’s a kiss that claims David as his own and offers himself up, all at the same time. He slips his phone into his pocket. “That was my mom. My dad’s decided to retire.”</p><p>“Okay? Is he looking for our permission? Or for travel suggestions? You know there’s this great resort on the coast of France that they’d really love…”</p><p>Patrick looks down at the counter, running his thumbnail along the grain of the wood. “They, um, they’re thinking of moving here.” He lifts his eyes to meet David’s. His face is raw and uncertain in a way that David can’t decipher. David squeezes his shoulder, trying to understand Patrick’s anxiety. Clint and Marcy are wonderful. Marcy makes the best cinnamon buns and while Clint is maybe too eager to offer unsolicited trivia, he asks David endearing, if slightly uninformed, questions about his clothes. They’re calm, steady people with none of the drama that marks David’s family and Patrick misses them. Having them closer would be a perfect solution to the lengthy road trips they’re forced to endure several times a year. </p><p>Patrick takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. David simultaneously envies and hates his husband’s ability to lock up his feelings. “I have to go, Heather is expecting me.” Patrick kisses him one more time as he digs his keys out of the pocket of his jeans. “We’ll talk when I get back. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.” The door closes on his words. Patrick hurries out the front door of the store, the void created by his absence pulls all of the air out of the store. At the last second, before he’s out of sight, Patrick turns back, a smile lighting his face as their eyes meet before he rounds the corner and disappears.</p><p>“Why would anyone want to move here when they could go to the south of France?” David mutters the words as the door opens, earning himself a confused look from the first customer of the day.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>The first time they talk about it is during the drive home from David and Patrick’s wedding. They’re somewhere between Parry Sound and Gravenhurst, stopped at a roadside pullout to switch drivers. <em>”I hate this.”</em> Marcy grumbles the words as she does up her seat belt and pulls back onto the highway. <em>”Wouldn’t it be nice if we lived closer?”</em></p><p>The conversation continues in fits and starts over the next five years. The question lives in every milestone she can’t be there for in person, after every holiday when David and Patrick leave to drive home, beneath every kilometer she and Clint drive back and forth between West Canthor and Schitt’s Creek. What if? An unanswered question from a little voice inside her that refuses to be quiet.</p><p>It’s not that Marcy begrudges Patrick his new life. Heaven knows she adores David. And she’s beyond proud of Patrick, for figuring out who he is, for building a thriving business, for loving David. It’s just, after spending the better part of thirty years living nearly on top of each other, she misses her son. Even now, five years after David and Patrick’s wedding, she still has to remind herself that Patrick won’t be over for dinner on Sunday or a barbeque on Friday or in between times to watch the game. </p><p>She doesn’t think about it every day. Or even once a month. But the idea lurks, in the back of her mind, waiting for the right moment. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, lingering over breakfast on a Saturday morning when everything drops into place. “I think it’s time to retire. To leave the firm.” Clint sets his tablet down beside his plate, the New York Times crossword open on the screen.</p><p>“Oh, the firm?” She goads him with the long-standing joke. Ever since she’d married him, Clint has insisted on referring to the tiny-two partner law practice that he started with his brother as ‘the firm.’ The well-worn joke carries the conversation as she considers the implications. <em>What if? </em></p><p>“Aidan’s ready to take over. He’ll buy me out this year and Frank in another three years.” Aidan is Frank’s oldest son and the only one of the Brewer cousins to go to law school. </p><p>“So.” When the accounting company she’s worked for twenty-five years had downsized last spring, Marcy had volunteered to retire. After years of auditing small businesses and putting numbers into spreadsheets, she doesn’t miss it. If Clint is ready to retire, then there’s nothing to stop them. As long as Patrick sees things the same way. </p><p>“So.” Clint puts down his coffee cup and they stare at each other for a long moment. “We should, uh, we should talk to Patrick and David.” It’s as though the course of her future will be decided in a single phone call. Which is stupid. It’s not like she can lose something she never had. If Patrick tells them not to move, things will carry on as they have for the past five years and she’ll still have the best relationship with her son that she’s ever had. It’s just...giving up on the possibility feels like a loss all the same. </p><p>“Yes.” There’s a pause that’s more than pregnant. How will Patrick react to this idea? They talk regularly on the phone and she texts both David and Patrick almost daily. There’s a relaxed familiarity between them now. Unbidden, a thread of unease works through her. “Do you think they’ll want us to be so close?”</p><p>“I guess all we can do is ask.” Suppressing any second thoughts, she pulls out her phone and dials Patrick’s number, chewing on her bottom lip as it rings.</p><p>“Mom? Is everything okay?” It’s just after nine. She never calls so early in the morning. She hastens to erase the worry from Patrick’s voice. </p><p>“Everything’s fine, honey. We just had some news and we didn't want to wait.” The excitement bubbles up inside her, she forces the words to come out as evenly as possible. “Your dad’s decided to retire.”</p><p>“Wow. Well, that’s great. Should I watch out for postcards from the Grand Canyon?” She has always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Maybe after they’re settled in Schitt’s Creek and she has what she really wants.</p><p>“Not exactly.” She takes a deep breath, worried her next words might remove the warmth from his voice. “We’ve been talking and we wanted to run an idea by you.”</p><p>“Okay?” His voice is cautious now, his tension comes through the phone as clearly as if she were standing next to him. It wraps around her, making her hurry to say the next words.</p><p>“We were thinking that we don’t get to see nearly enough of you and David and we thought, as long as you were okay with it, we thought we might consider moving a little closer?” She rushes through the words, tripping over them in her attempt to both share and temper her excitement.</p><p>“How much closer?” His caution is more pronounced now and in the background the bell over the store door jingles. She should have waited until later to call when Patrick wasn’t distracted by work. It’s too late now. She barrels ahead.</p><p>“Well, we thought we might move to Schitt’s Creek.” She holds her breath as she says the words, nervously awaiting his response.</p><p>“Okay.” He repeats the word, it hangs over both of them. Her fingers clench on the phone. It isn’t the enthusiastic response she’d been hoping for. “Well, I’ll have to talk to David.”</p><p>“Oh, of course, we wouldn’t expect anything else.” She puts some extra brightness into the words, hiding her disappointed reaction to his muted response. She hurries to reassure him, not wanting to create a rift or to reveal how badly she wants this. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable, give us a call when you can. We love you.”</p><p>“I love you guys too.” There’s another lengthy pause. “Listen, I have to go, I have to do a vendor pick-up but I’ll call you later, okay?”</p><p>Marcy hangs up the phone, a tiny tremor of unease running through her. There’s nothing wrong with what Patrick said. Wanting to talk to David about their plans to move to Schitt’s Creek is the responsible thing to do, the right thing to do with his husband of five years. Everything Patrick had said on the phone was perfectly correct. Too correct. She bites her lip, remembering a previous time when Patrick gave all the correct answers. This is nothing like that. If Patrick has a problem with them moving, she’s sure that he’ll say so. She puts the phone down on the table and Clint follows her movement. “Are we doing the right thing?”</p><p>Clint squeezes her hand, forcing her to look up at him. “We both want to be closer to Patrick and we know he’s never moving back here.”</p><p>“Mmm.” She turns her hand over to grasp his larger one. “What if...what if that’s not what he wants?”</p><p>It might break her in two if Patrick says he doesn’t want them to move closer. A near decade-old sting of rejection lances through her, the same feeling from all those years before when she’d watched Patrick wedge the last of his boxes into the back seat of his car before he drove away without explanation or expectation. Everything that has happened since has bandaged over the wound, but the pain she’d felt at seeing her only child drive away without a backwards glance remains, deep in that secret place she doesn’t visit often. That he might reject her again doesn’t bear thinking about. </p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“Mmkay, so I just need to go through this one more time.” David’s face twists in confusion as he hops up on the island in the kitchen, Patrick slots himself between his knees. They’ve been talking about his parents’ phone call since they came home from the store. Or David’s been forcing him to talk about it, which might be a better way to put it. He runs his hands up David’s thighs, resting them on his husband’s hips. “Why do your parents want to move here?”</p><p>“Apparently, they miss me. And you.” David frowns at him, his eyebrows forming a tight V. Patrick wants to kiss them, so he does, pressing his lips to the bridge of David’s nose. If he drops his lips a little lower, maybe he can distract David. But David pulls his head away.</p><p>“But we talk to them all the time.” It had taken David almost a year to adjust after the Roses had left town, but now he talks to his sister and his parents all the time with an ease that Patrick suspects none of them have ever had before. He misses his parents too. So why is he so unsettled about having them move to Schitt’s Creek? He toys with the cuff of David’s sweater, not wanting to analyze his feelings.</p><p>“I know.” The cedar scent of David’s aftershave fills his nose and he leans closer, nuzzling at the collar of David’s sweater. “If Alexis wanted to move back, you’d understand why.” </p><p>“Alexis loves New York.” David is being deliberately difficult, the way he does when he’s forcing Patrick to share his thoughts. Patrick loves him and hates him in equal measure.</p><p>“David.” His husband rolls his eyes. Without either of them noticing, his hands have found Patrick’s shoulders again. David’s touch is a constant thing, only when he’s truly upset do his hands fail to reach for Patrick. And he’s come to rely on it as well. The soft stroke of David’s fingers tells him he’s not alone.</p><p>“Okay. I guess I understand that.” David’s fingers go still as he narrows in on the thing Patrick is holding back. “How do you feel about them moving here?”</p><p>Patrick sighs. That’s the question he’s been both obsessing over and avoiding ever since his mom had called that morning. He needs to call her back. Or text her. Or something. “It’ll break her heart if I tell her I don’t want them to come.” </p><p>“Is that what you want?” David’s fingers move in slow circles, round and round.</p><p>“No.” He sighs again. “I don’t know.” He drops his forehead to rest against David’s chest. David’s hands move to his head, gently carding through his hair. “I don’t want to go back in time.” The words are muffled but David nods against the top of his head. “I don’t want them to think it will be like it was before. With Rachel.” </p><p>“It won’t be.” The certainty in David’s voice makes him lift his head. David’s hands drop back to his shoulders. “You’re different. They’re different. And I am most definitely not Rachel.” </p><p>“No,” Patrick can’t help but kiss him then, relishing the scratch of stubble against his lips. “You definitely aren’t.” David’s right. It will be fine. He misses his mom and dad and this is the perfect solution. Everything will be fine.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Two months later</strong>
</p><p>Patrick sits in the kitchen, waiting for David to bring the last of his things downstairs. Sunshine streams in the window over the sink, catching the quartz in the new white granite countertops they’d installed this spring. Out the window, the lilacs are just starting to bloom, if he closes his eyes, he can just catch a whiff of the heady scent. This is his favorite spot. After the porch swing. And the bedroom. His third favorite spot. There’s a coziness to the kitchen that reminds him of coffee and pizza and feeding David fresh strawberries from the garden, juice staining his lips.</p><p>The lilacs were in the garden when they bought the house, the old branches are covered in blossoms every spring. The rest of the garden is new, Patrick built the raised beds their first summer in the house, slowly expanding the flower beds into a curving design that surrounds the vegetables and takes up a third of their back lawn. He checks the settings on his app for the watering system for the third time as David arrives in the doorway of the kitchen, a black leather carryall in one hand and a slightly harried look on his face. Their other suitcase waits by the front door, where Patrick had carried it down the stairs earlier. </p><p>“Coffee?” Patrick nods towards the travel mugs waiting on the counter and waits for David’s next question. The past five years together have taught him that David prepares for every trip with the same concentration as he does a three week overseas vacation. </p><p>“Snacks?” David’s voice is both hopeful and worried, as though Patrick might have forgotten such an important detail. As if seven years of doing things for David Rose haven’t taught him the importance of maintaining an adequate supply of food at all times.</p><p>“In the car.” He’d stowed the properly curated bag of snack foods in the center console of the car earlier that morning while David was still in bed. </p><p>“It still feels wrong not to bring your parents something.” Time has tempered David’s need to buy affection with gifts, but remnants of that old instinct remain, like cobwebs clinging in an attic.</p><p>“David, my parents are cleaning out their house. The last thing they need is for us to bring them more stuff.” It’s been two months since his parents had said they wanted to move to Schitt’s Creek and it’s been two months of inquiries about whether he and David want his grandmother's china? <em>No.</em> Or his childhood baseball card collection? <em>I’ll have to look.</em> Or the painting over the sofa? <em>Definitely not.</em></p><p>It’s an eight hour drive to West Canthor. They’ll spend the next week helping clear away the last of the clutter his parents have accumulated over the past 30 years before the house goes up for sale next week. And then, before he knows it, his parents will be living here, practically next door. </p><p>“I should just text Monique…” David trails off as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. They’d hired Monique three years ago to look after the store on the weekends. It was the best decision they’d ever made.</p><p>“Monique will be fine. Let her do her job.” Patrick waits for David’s next words.</p><p>“But what if…?” David chews his lip and opens his phone, a photo of the two of them sitting on the porch swing days after they’d moved into their house shows on the screen.</p><p>“David. Nothing is different just because we’re going out of town.” He stands up and takes David’s phone out of his hand, slipping it back into the front pocket of his husband’s skirted pants. “C’mon, we don’t want to be late.” He stretches to brush his lips against David’s, his pleasure at being surrounded by David’s larger body tumbling inside him. He just needs to make it through this week-long trip down memory lane. And then everything will be fine.</p><p>He carries the oversized suitcase out to the car, waiting as David locks the front door and double-checks it. He’d sacrificed his extra sweater in a bid to convince David that one bag was sufficient for a seven-day trip. He grins to himself as he loads the bag into the back of their new car. He had expected pushback about aesthetics when he’d proposed the Subaru as a practical replacement for his Toyota, but David had just shrugged and said it would be nice to have more room in the back seat. Extra room that they’ve made good use of on two recent trips to the local drive in. </p><p>He shuts the rear door, turning to find himself trapped as David presses him against the car. He relaxes into David’s touch, pulling him closer as David kisses him, losing himself for a long moment in the play of David’s lips and the soft thrust of his tongue. David’s nose nudges at his ear, his breath is warm against Patrick’s cheek. “I need to do this now, before you get all weird.”</p><p>“I don’t get weird.” He stifles a gasp as David’s mouth finds the side of his neck. “I just don’t like having sex with my parents in the next room.” He’s been so focused on revisiting his past that he’s forgotten about the tension of wanting David while his parents sleep down the hall. </p><p>“And yet, that doesn’t stop you.” He stifles an embarrassing noise as David’s hands find his hips, holding him in place against the car.</p><p>“That’s because you’re irresistible, baby.” David finds his neck again, with teeth this time. His larger frame is heavy against Patrick’s body, warm and comfortable. “We need to go.” He doesn’t want to go, not really. He doesn’t want to sift through his childhood memories and envision a future where his parents are minutes instead of hours away. As though he senses his mood, David cups his cheek with one hand.</p><p>“I’ll be right here the whole time.”</p><p>“Yep.” He presses a kiss to David’s palm, pushing him aside so to get into the car. “Let’s go.”</p><p>David puts his bag in the back seat and checks to arrange the coffee and snacks before doing up his seatbelt. Patrick pulls out of the driveway, their stone cottage grows smaller in the rearview mirror as David cues up their travel playlist on his phone and the first of many Mariah Carey songs fills the car.</p><p>He waits until they get to the highway before dropping his hand to rest on David’s leg. David tangles their fingers together and Patrick marvels at how his husband’s touch still sends a frisson of excitement through him, even after all this time. </p><p>“Twizzler?” David wiggles the red licorice at him.</p><p>“David, it’s nine thirty in the morning.” </p><p>“It’s like you don’t even know me.” Patrick grimaces as David takes a bite of the candy followed by a sip of his coffee. “So how much stuff are we talking about exactly?”</p><p>“Well, you’ve seen their house. And they’ve lived there for 30 years. So, like, a lot of stuff.” The goal for this week is to go through every nook and cranny of his parent’s house, pack up the things they want to keep and have a garage sale for the rest. Patrick suppresses a shudder as he thinks about the cupboards and the closets and the basement. But it’s not the stuff that’s bothering him, it’s the memories he’ll find, hidden amidst the old papers and the dusty knick knacks. </p><p>“They’re just memories.” He fights off the urge to pull his hand away from David’s. Sometimes his husband knows him too well. </p><p>“I know. It’s just—” He hates dredging up the past. He’d rather live in the present, in the life that he’s fought for and cherishes. “It’s fine.”</p><p>David starts to speak before changing his mind, squeezing Patrick’s fingers gently. “Antipasto.”</p><p>“Category?” He smiles, grateful for the distraction. The alphabet game is silly, but they play all the time on long road trips. Patrick fails spectacularly on both pop divas and rom coms, so David takes pity on him once in a while and throws in some food categories. He usually wins those as well.</p><p>“Foreign foods.”</p><p>“Is antipasto a foreign food though? I mean, my mom makes antipasto every Christmas.” </p><p>“It’s Italian!”</p><p>“Fine. Baba ganoush.”</p><p>“Chirinabe.”</p><p>“Which is?” He’ll never admit it, but learning about the places David’s been makes it fun.</p><p>“A fish hot pot from Japan. I had it once from this food vendor in this tiny street in Kyoto. The cherry blossoms were out and I sat under one of the trees and petals fell into my bowl.” If he wasn’t driving, he would kiss David, but he settles for giving his leg a gentle squeeze instead.</p><p>They work their way through the alphabet, Patrick gets stuck on J, pulling jambalaya out of thin air at the last second, much to David’s amusement. He gets his redemption a few minutes later when David stumbles at O, trying to insist that ouzo is a food. </p><p>“Alcohol isn’t a food, David.” David had firmly ruled out vermouth when Patrick had tried to claim it on their last trip to Thornbridge.</p><p>“It is for some people.” David takes a defiant bite of his Twizzler.</p><p>“Okay. You got anything else or are you going to forfeit the game?” David huffs at him. Out of the corner of his eye, David’s face contorts as he struggles to accept the loss. “Are you going to admit it?”</p><p>“Admit what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” David points the licorice at him. </p><p>“Admit that you lost.”</p><p>“I didn’t lose, I just haven’t won yet.” David’s ridiculousness startles a laugh out of him. David grins at him before joining in. The green and white sign on the side of the road leaches the amusement out of him. </p><p>
  <strong>West Canthor 10 km</strong>
</p><p>Everything’s going to be fine. “We’re almost there.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“Why do we have three can openers?” Clint stares at the pile of kitchen utensils that are spread out on the kitchen table, ready to be sorted into keep, sell, and toss piles.</p><p>“Four.” Marcy holds up another one she’s found in the back of a drawer. “Remember that time your sister bought a bunch of them off of late night TV and gave everyone one for Christmas?”</p><p>“Did we get all the extras?”</p><p>“It sure feels like it.” Marcy drops the can opener in her hand into the plastic tub for the garage sale. She purses her lips, considering a handful of wooden spoons and ladles before tossing them in as well. They’ve been at this for three weeks and it feels like three years, going through every drawer, every cupboard and examining all their belongings. It’s exhausting and boring and part of him wants to sell everything at the garage sale and start again when they get to Schitt’s Creek. What does it matter which can opener is best? Or which knife is the sharpest? But here they are, making decision after decision. </p><p>Marcy is so eager to make this move. Like she’s being driven forward by a tidal wave that will land them in Schitt’s Creek. He only hopes it brings her what she wants, what they both want, rather than churning them into a shoal. Or something like that. Maybe he’s been reading too many Patrick O’Brien books. </p><p>“Did they get away on time?” Experience has taught him that the Brewer definition of ‘on time’ and the David Rose definition of ‘on time’ are born from two different galaxies. They haven’t seen Patrick and David since Christmas and phone calls and face-time aren’t the same. He needs to be in the same room as his son to know what he’s really thinking.</p><p>“Patrick texted that they left at nine thirty.” All things considered, it’s better than he expected. He does the math in his head, calculating when David and Patrick will arrive. “They should be here by six.” He checks the time on the microwave. Five thirty. With a sigh, he opens another drawer, adding a collection of placemats to the pile on the table. Marcy nods at them. “Keep the ones Linda made. The beige ones.”</p><p>He separates the selected linens, putting the rest into the tub with the discarded utensils. He’s not sure what to expect when David and Patrick arrive. Patrick had been supportive but not enthusiastic on the phone, steering the conversation towards logistics and planning and away from how he feels about their proposed move.  </p><p>The crunch of the tires and the slam of a car door filter through the open window. Clint cranes his head, the roof of David and Patrick’s new Subaru is just visible in the driveway. David’s dark head pops into view and he laughs at something Patrick has said. “Marcy, they’re here.” Marcy puts down the stack of mismatched saucers that she’s pulled out of the back of the cupboard. She stands on her tiptoes, kissing him quickly. He rubs her shoulders, sensing her tension. “It’s going to be fine.”</p><p>The front door opens. “Hello?” Patrick calls out over the sounds of a suitcase being maneuvered into the front hall. </p><p>“We’re in the kitchen, honey.” </p><p>They meet halfway down the hallway, the four of them crowded into the compact space as they try to exchange a four-way hug while everyone talks at once.</p><p>“How was the drive?”</p><p>“Wow, look at all those boxes.”</p><p>“Do you want anything to eat?”</p><p>“I love that color on you.”</p><p>He takes up the rear as David and Patrick follow Marcy down the hall into the kitchen. David’s hand caresses his son’s shoulder, a quick touch that loosens the tightness in both their frames. They come to an abrupt halt inside the kitchen door.</p><p>“O-kay.” Patrick exhales as he takes in the open cupboards, the pile of utensils and kitchenware on the table, the bin filled with more kitchen things on the floor, the boxes stacked by the back door. “Where do you want us to start?”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>The picture is hand-painted, one of those ordinary drawings that grace the refrigerators of every family. Or so David assumes. Any of his own art pieces had long since been lost to the sands of time. Not that his own family would have displayed childhood artwork in the kitchen that the family never used. “Did you paint this?” </p><p>Patrick looks up from the box of sports equipment that he’s sorting through. Anything he deems good enough to use will go into Saturday’s garage sale. “Yep. My art career ended at an early age.” </p><p>“Who’s this?” David points to a yellow-haired stick figure on one side of the drawing.</p><p>Patrick flushes, his cheeks a pale pink. David longs to trace the blush on his cheekbones with his fingertips, a line of heat overtaking Patrick’s normally cool demeanor. Patrick sets the baseball glove into the box at his feet and comes to stand beside David. “That’s Kevin.”</p><p>“Who’s Kevin?” The boys in the picture are holding hands. Kevin holds what might be a beach ball, but is probably supposed to be a baseball. The other boy (Patrick?) has a stick growing out of his free hand that David assumes is the bat. His own childhood had been devoid of both baseball and stick figures, yet another reminder of the ocean of different experiences that lie between them. He doesn’t like Kevin. Kevin, who got to share these things with Patrick. </p><p>“Kevin lived down the street. He was my best friend. We were going to live together and play baseball every day.” Patrick’s fingers gently brush over the picture, a wistful expression on his face.</p><p>“Oh, honey.” Patrick’s shoulders are high and tight. If he pushes them down to their usual position, maybe Patrick will relax. He rubs Patrick’s shoulder instead as his husband takes the picture from him. Patrick struggles sometimes not to see everything from his youth as a sign that he should have known sooner, should have been able to figure things out before he did. But sometimes five-year-olds just want to play a lot of baseball. “Keep or toss?”</p><p>“Toss. No, keep.” He sets the drawing gently in the small pile of things on Patrick’s desk along with his first baseball sweater, his award for perfect attendance in grade 3 and a small stack of photographs and school report cards. He pulls the next item out of the drawer of Patrick’s school desk. Is he helping? It’s hard to tell. It’s all so personal, these memories of Patrick’s childhood, each one requiring a decision about their present-day importance that David is unable to assess. “How do you have so much stuff?”</p><p>“A lifetime of not dealing with things, I guess.” </p><p>“Hey.” He pulls Patrick closer, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his shoulder. “We don’t have to do this. We can throw everything in the garbage if you want. Or we can box it all up and take it home with us and you can go through it later.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head and leans back into him. “I want to go through it here. I don’t want to drag my past home with us or have it sit unopened in a box on a shelf.”</p><p>“Okay.” He tightens his grip on Patrick’s shoulders. “What can I do?”</p><p>“You could go through the clothes in the closet. Anything that’s still good can go to the secondhand store.”</p><p>He nods against Patrick’s cheek, the scratch of his stubble is sharp against his face. “You know you won’t revert back into the person you were back then, right?” They’ve talked it through, over and over. But being here, in this house, brings back all of Patrick’s old ghosts and uncertainties. </p><p>“I know. It’s just a lot of memories.” The tone of Patrick’s voice takes him back years to the first trip they’d made to this house as a couple. They’d toured the town, Patrick intent on showing him the baseball field where he’d played Little League and the ice cream parlour he used to go to with his friends after school, a place so delightfully trite it made David’s teeth ache. The timbre of his voice is the same today, as though he’s working through a checklist of memories, desperately trying to lay them to rest.</p><p>Reluctantly, he releases Patrick and opens the closet. The hangers are jammed so tightly together that he struggles to push them apart. The first third of the closet comprises familiar blue button-down shirts. There’s no way he’s letting Patrick bring home another blue shirt, let alone twenty of them. He dumps the armful in a pile on the bed. “One day you’re going to tell me the story of your first blue button-down shirt.”</p><p>Patrick shrugs. He’s taken over the drawer that David abandoned, quickly sorting papers between the garbage and the keep pile. “I got a summer job at the bank when I was in college and my mom said I needed to look professional, so she bought them for me. It was easy.” He’s wearing one of David’s favorite sweaters today, a soft green cashmere that accents his shoulders.</p><p>“So I’m not the only one who was dressed by my mother well into my teens.” David adds a second armful of clothes to the pile on the bed. He strips them off the hangers, most of the shirts are in good shape, he folds them carefully and places them in the box for the thrift store. “What’s this?” He pulls the wool blazer off the hanger, quickly checking the size. It’s a deep rich burgundy, heavy enough to wear outside, but it wouldn’t look out of place at a meeting or an evening event. Mid-thigh length, it’s cut to accentuate the shoulders. A run of his fingers on the sleeve tells him it’s quality. Not his level of quality, of course, but nicer than many of the things in Patrick’s wardrobe.</p><p>Patrick chuckles as he rubs the thick fabric between his fingers. “I bought that when I broke up with Rachel one time. I think I wanted to reinvent myself but I always felt too awkward when I put it on, so I never wore it.”</p><p>“Try it now.” He wants to see it on Patrick so badly, his fingers twitch while he waits for Patrick to make up his mind. Patrick tilts his head, considering, before he shrugs the jacket on over his sweater.</p><p>“Oh, that’s very nice.” David brushes his hands over Patrick’s shoulders, straightening the line. “That’s definitely coming home with us. Look at you.” He tugs Patrick over to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He sees Patrick’s stance shift from uncertain to confident as he examines his reflection. His eyes meet Patrick’s in the mirror. Patrick looks like a goddamn vision and it’s all David can do to keep his hands off him. He straightens the collar. “You look fucking hot.” The heat builds between them. Maybe Patrick would stop for five minutes for a quick blow job? Like a bucket of cold water, Marcy pushes open the bedroom door.</p><p>“You look nice, honey.” Marcy runs a hand over Patrick’s bicep. “Where did you find that?”</p><p>“David found it in the closet.” Patrick tucks his hands into the pockets of the blazer and turns sideways to look at the jacket again. Arousal rises inside him, David forces himself to focus on Marcy, driving away thoughts of what he wants to do to his husband.</p><p>“That’s a lovely color on you.” She pats his arm one more time. “David, dear, can you help me? Clint’s in the garage and there are some things in the top of the closet that I can’t reach.”</p><p>“Sure.” He squeezes Patrick’s shoulder as he leaves the room, trailing behind his mother-in-law. It’s been five years and he’s still not used to having a mother-in-law. Mothers-in-law are things that happen to other people, not people like David Rose. And that’s doubly true for mothers-in-law like Marcy Brewer. He’s discovered a few things since getting married. A vague appreciation for baseball. That loading the dishwasher together is not a recipe for a happy marriage. And Clint and Marcy, who appear to love him, despite his having done nothing to deserve it. David’s not sure which of these things surprises him the most. </p><p>He follows Marcy down the hallway to her bedroom. The room is everything he expects. A pale blue bedspread matches the curtains that frame the large window looking out over the backyard. Through the open window, a bird is singing. A pile of clothes sits at one end of the bed; the only sign of the chaos that has enveloped the rest of the house. “Just there.” She gestures to the top shelf of the closet where a pair of banker’s boxes are tucked towards the back.</p><p>He pulls down the first box, it’s heavier than he expects and he staggers under the weight. In contrast, the second one is feather light, he sets it beside the first. “Thank you, dear.” Marcy lifts the lid of the first box and sets it aside. David cranes his neck, trying to see inside as Marcy pulls out a photo album with a cream-colored sateen cover, holding it with both hands in front of her chest. </p><p>“How’s he doing?” That she would even ask is a testament to how worried she is. Ever since he’s known her, Marcy Brewer has always been more than careful about interfering in her son’s life. “This must be stirring up a lot of memories.” She holds the album out to him.</p><p>He flips open the cover. It’s a wedding album, the first photo is a formal picture of Clint and Marcy on the steps of a church. “Wow, that’s a lot of tulle.”</p><p>Marcy grins at him. “Isn’t it? It was the 80s, bigger was better.” That’s an understatement. It’s overwhelmingly poofy, the dress engulfs Marcy in a sea of satin and lace.</p><p>“Well, that’s debatable. You look beautiful.” Other than the dress, he means it. Marcy’s face glows and beside her, Clint wears a proud smile, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders.</p><p>“In spite of the dress?” He grimaces at her, not wanting to offend, but there’s a spark in her eyes that’s identical to the one that lights Patrick up when he teases him. </p><p>“In spite of the dress.” He turns the pages, seeing familiar faces from the Brewer clan that he’s come to know over the past five years. “He’s doing okay.” </p><p>“You’d tell me if he wasn’t?” Marcy takes the album from him and puts it back in the box. </p><p>He wants to say yes. He wants to tell her what she wants to hear. To assure her that he would tell her what Patrick might not. But it’s up to Patrick. “Maybe.” </p><p>He plays with his rings, hoping he hasn’t hurt her. She squeezes his arm before lifting the lid of the second box. “Thank you, David.” The box is filled with white lace. Is it extra fabric from her wedding dress? Slowly, the shape coalesces into a wedding veil. “I don’t know what to do with this.”</p><p>He lifts it from the box. By any standard, it’s a lot. There are multiple bows and flowers, held together with a headband. “Can I?”</p><p>Marcy raises a curious eyebrow at him. “If you want.”</p><p>If the veil had been a lot in the box, it’s even more in his hands. Yards of fabric unfold from the box, when he holds it up, it falls all the way to the floor. Something about it is irresistible and he slides the headband onto his head, adjusting it carefully so it doesn’t muss up his hair. In the mirror, the white tulle falls to his knees, framing his black and white outfit. </p><p>“I think you look very beautiful.” Patrick’s voice is low with an edge of roughness as he leans in the doorway, his arms crossed casually on his chest. He’s still wearing the burgundy blazer and his eyes meet David’s in the mirror, warm and wanting. Sometimes, in moments like this, David can’t believe that Patrick is wholly real. His husband is beautiful in his own right, but there’s no denying that he looks like he models for Business World magazine in his spare time. And yet, he’s never faltered in his absolute acceptance of who David is. </p><p>“I’m not sure it goes with the Dries van Noten, though.” He gestures to his skirted pants and Balenciaga sweater. He shimmies in the mirror, his eyes glued to Patrick’s. His husband’s eyes darken and the heat of Patrick’s desire nearly makes him stumble as it ratchets between them. Patrick bites his lip, his white teeth a sharp contrast to his red mouth. The ghost of those teeth echoes through the fading hickey on David’s collarbone, well hidden beneath his sweater. He rolls his shoulder and Patrick’s eyes grow even darker. Behind him, Marcy giggles, making David start. For a second, he’d forgotten she was in the room. Carefully, he lifts the veil from his head, setting it gently in the box. </p><p>“I don’t know what to do with it.” Marcy repeats herself. “Even if—” Her eyes slide to Patrick in the doorway. “Well, it’s not like anyone wants an old wedding veil from the 1980s.” </p><p>“If it makes you happy, you should keep it.” His own wedding bouquet is wrapped in tissue paper in a box at the back of his closet.</p><p>“Why don’t you see if Chelsea might want it?” Patrick offers from the doorway. Chelsea is one of the younger of Patrick’s cousins. “Not to wear. But you two have always been close, maybe she could use part of it for her wedding this summer?”</p><p>“That’s a good idea, sweetheart.” Marcy sets the lid back on the box and puts it by the door. She motions to the box with the photo albums. “Can you take that downstairs to the keep pile in the living room?”</p><p>Patrick nods and accepts the box, disappearing back down the hallway. Marcy squeezes David’s shoulder. “Thank you, David.”</p><p>He shakes his head, frowning at her. “For what?” Patrick’s family is like this, they’re always thanking him for things. Which he likes but doesn’t understand. </p><p>“For being you.” Marcy offers the words like they’re an explanation. Maybe they are. </p><p>“Well, you’re joining a very short list of people who have said that.” It’s like he’s successfully fooled Clint and Marcy into believing things about him that only Patrick believes. He can’t look at her. Looking at her will break the spell. Or make him cry. Or both. His eyes dart around the room, landing on the matching nightstands and the maple wood dresser before returning to her face. She smiles at him and he can’t fight off the warm feeling that spreads through him. </p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Marcy moves the box of napkins and placements off of the seat of her usual chair at the kitchen table. She pushes aside the stack of cutlery to make space for her coffee cup and sits at the table. It’s unsettling, living like this, the corners of her life ripped up and exposed, poured over and picked through. The garage sale is tomorrow and then there’s just the rest of the packing and the moving and everything that comes after. Why did she ever think this was a good idea? Maybe it’s not too late to change her mind.</p><p>There’s a soft rustle behind her and Patrick appears in the doorway. He yawns, running a hand through his rumpled hair and rucking up one side of his blue t-shirt. </p><p>“Morning, honey.”</p><p>“Morning.” He pours a cup of coffee and joins her at the table, taking the box she’d just moved off of the other chair and placing it on the floor. She can’t count how many mornings the two of them have spent like this over the years. They’ve always been the early risers, Clint prefers to sleep in until eight and David won’t be up until after nine o’clock most days. So it’s just the two of them in the midst of the disaster that is her kitchen.</p><p>“Thank you for coming this week.” She pats his hand, strangely relieved when he squeezes her fingers in response. “I know this hasn’t been much fun.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. And it’s been fine.” For a split second, she thinks he’ll pull his hand away, but he waits until she pats it one last time before wrapping it around his coffee cup.</p><p>“Well, I haven’t been having much fun. Look at this place.” She waves at the piles of cutlery and mixing bowls and glassware that cover the table, half of them bear neon price tags intended to lure in a future buyer to love the parts of her life that she’s discarding. </p><p>Her words startle a laugh out of him and he grins, the broad toothy smile that she hasn’t seen enough of this past week. “You’re right. This sucks.” Patrick takes a sip of his coffee, his broad fingers straightening up a couple of the closest knives and forks. He’s always done that, even as a child he’d arrange his cutlery in nice straight lines before they started eating. </p><p>She takes a drink of her coffee. Patrick clenches his fist, just for a second, before wrapping his fingers around his own cup. “There are a lot of memories in this house.” Not all of Patrick’s memories are pleasant ones and not even the past five years can wipe them away. Not entirely.</p><p>“Yeah. There are.” She longs to brush Patrick’s regrets away with her fingers. The morning sunshine is bright through the kitchen window, it reflects off of the glassware that’s stacked on the kitchen counter.</p><p>“Do you remember when you hit your baseball through that window?” Patrick had been so excited to show off his new baseball to his friends, but an errant hit had caused everything to end in tears.</p><p>He’s not crying now and his brown eyes sparkle as they meet hers. “As if I could forget. Dad was so mad.”</p><p>“It’s the only time I remember him yelling at you.” Clint had been beside himself. He’d yelled at Patrick, and then he’d apologized to his eight-year-old son for losing his temper. She had cried, then.</p><p>“Yeah, usually you were the one who yelled.” His smile gets bigger as he tries to wind her up.</p><p>“I was not.” She pokes him gently in the arm with her index finger. “You were just so infuriatingly cheeky.”</p><p>He shrugs at her, a partial smirk covering his face. “Are you saying I’m not cheeky now?”</p><p>“I’m just saying you’re less infuriating.” He laughs again, the sound bounces off the walls. This is what she’s missed, watching her son grow into this man who’s so free and easy with his happiness. </p><p>They trade memories back and forth. Patrick recalls the Christmas it had snowed so much that none of the family had visited until Boxing Day and they’d had Christmas alone, just the three of them. And she reminds him of his first birthday party when he’d tried to give his gifts away to all his friends. They’re giggling over the time she’d caught him before he jumped off of the roof of the garage onto the trampoline when Clint appears in the doorway. </p><p>“Is this a private party?” Clint pours a cup of coffee and kisses her cheek, searching for a place to sit before giving up and leaning against the counter. </p><p>“We were just remembering the Trampoline Incident.” The story is still a favorite at family gatherings, much to Patrick’s disgust. He’d been so determined, telling her about how he’d calculated the angle and the velocity and that nothing bad would happen. He’d pouted for the rest of the day when she hadn’t been convinced.</p><p>Clint grins at them both. “Sometimes I wonder how we kept you alive.”</p><p>“I wasn’t that bad.” Patrick’s voice carries a mixture of sheepishness and mock-defensiveness. He gets up and offers his chair to Clint. “I should take David his coffee.” He leans down, kissing her softly on the cheek. “Thanks, mom.” Coffee in hand, he whistles to himself as he goes upstairs to see if David is awake. Moments later, the soft murmur of voices floats down the stairs.</p><p>It will be hard, leaving this house behind. The house where Patrick was a boy and then a teenager. Every corner contains memories and stories of Patrick’s childhood, of the times she and Clint spent together. “We’ll make new memories.” Clint guesses the path of her thoughts.</p><p>“We will. We definitely will.” It’s just a house. They’ll pack up all their memories and take them to the new house. But as excited as she is to make fresh memories, she can’t deny her sadness at leaving this place behind. </p><p>Three hours later, they’ve finished pricing the items in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. She winds her way through the maze of boxes down the hallway and opens the door to find a petite redhead standing on the doorstep, a shoebox in one hand. “Rachel!”</p><p>“Hi, Marcy.” Rachel hugs her quickly, before stepping inside and closing the door. “Wow, this is really happening, huh.”</p><p>“It really is. I hope that’s not a present you’ve brought.” She can’t contemplate having to deal with even one more thing that needs to be packed in a box for the movers. </p><p>“Only in a manner of speaking.” Rachel opens the lid, revealing several rolls of masking tape and a variety of fluorescent price tags. “Matt and I had a garage sale last summer and these were left over. I thought maybe you could use them.”</p><p>“You’re a godsend. C’mon, David and Patrick are in the kitchen.” Rachel leads the way down the hallway, years of familiarity guiding her way. </p><p>David and Patrick have cleared off the kitchen table. David sits at the table attaching price tags to a box of Patrick’s old toys. Patrick stands at the counter, carefully writing out each label. “Look who’s here.”</p><p>“Rach!” Patrick puts down his pen and sweeps his ex-fiancee into a hug. “Oh my god, look at your hair.” </p><p>Rachel laughs, bringing a hand up to her short, closely styled hair. “It’s easier with the baby, less hair for him to grab onto. Hi David.” </p><p>“Hey. Your hair looks great.” David stands up to hug Rachel; her body is tiny against his large frame. “How’s Matt? And…” Marcy chuckles to herself as David struggles to remember the name of Rachel’s son.</p><p>“Gabe.” Rachel grins as she provides the name David has misplaced.</p><p>David nods vigorously as though he knew all along. “Yeah, Gabe.”</p><p>“They’re both great. Gabe’s just started to walk.” Rachel beams, a smile that Marcy can’t recall seeing before now spreading across her face.</p><p>“Is he supposed to be doing that?” David’s lack of interest in children has never been a secret to anyone.</p><p>“He is.” Rachel and Patrick exchange fond looks as David throws his hands up in the air.</p><p>“How am I supposed to know these things?” David is outraged at the idea that anyone would expect him to have basic knowledge of children. There’s an easy comradery between her son and his husband and his ex-fiancee turned best friend as they tease each other. They’d all mistaken it for something else but it’s clear Patrick and Rachel are better as friends than they ever had been as a couple. </p><p>Rachel leaves off teasing Patrick about the color of his shirt. “Marcy, I’m here to help. What can I do?” </p><p>“Let me get more boxes.” She makes several trips back and forth from the living room, from the den, from the bedroom with boxes of things destined for the garage sale. David and Patrick and Rachel make quick work of the items, pricing and labeling and carrying items out to the garage for Clint to arrange on the grey plastic folding tables that they’d borrowed from the community hall. </p><p>It’s four o’clock when Rachel regretfully puts down her felt marker. “I have to go. I’m going to miss you, Marcy.” She hugs Marcy tightly, the first of many goodbyes they’ll make in this house in the coming weeks.</p><p>“Me too, honey.” She hugs Rachel back, hanging on until the last second. </p><p>“And you.” Rachel points at David and Patrick. “Just because Clint and Marcy don’t live here anymore doesn’t mean that I don’t expect you to come visit.”</p><p>“It’s a deal.” Patrick hugs Rachel, chuckling when David joins them, his long arms wrapping around both of them. “You know, you’re welcome to visit us any time.”</p><p>“And drive all that way?” The door closes on Rachel’s laugh. As Marcy watches her car back out of the driveway, the permanence of their move to Schitt’s Creek sinks in for the first time. With a sigh, she turns back to the rest of the items in the kitchen. It’s definitely too late to change course now.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“Mmm.” David’s arms wrap around him, pulling Patrick’s hips into his. Patrick snuggles closer, David’s breath is warm on the back of his neck as his husband’s hand slides under the hem of his t-shirt, scratching gently at his belly. David noses at the neckline of his shirt, kissing, then biting at the spot he’s exposed over his collarbone. “David, we can’t...do this here.” </p><p>“Why not?” The hand that had been on his stomach sneaks lower, David’s fingers teasing under the band of his sleep pants.</p><p>“My parents are right next door.” The sentence ends in a gasp as David’s hand finds its destination. </p><p>David runs his tongue along the shell of his ear. Without meaning to, he tilts his head, David nuzzles at his neck. “They are not.” He’s about to argue when David’s hand tightens, moving just enough to make his hips buck in response. “I heard them go downstairs.” Reaching back, he grips David’s hip with his free hand, gasping as his husband grinds against him. Even through their sleep pants, every movement of David against his ass sends sparks up his spine. “You still have to be quiet, honey. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>“Can you?” Between the motion of David’s hand and the thrusting of his hips, Patrick’s ability to form words fades away. “I’m not the only loud one in this relationship.”</p><p>“Shh, shh. I’m going to make you feel so good.” David’s lips find his shoulder again, the renewed sting of the hickey adding to the sensations coursing through his body. </p><p>David twists his hand at the same time as he bites down on Patrick’s collarbone and it’s too much, his release coils through him, his suppressed shout muted into a whimper as David gasps in his ear, hips pushing forward into Patrick as he lets himself go. They lay together, panting and floaty before Patrick wraps a hand around David’s neck and pulls him close for a kiss. “Morning, sunshine. I like it when you wake up first.”</p><p>“Well, lets just save that for special occasions, shall we?” David kisses his favorite spot behind his ear. “Do you think both of us can fit in that shower?”</p><p>“We have before.” The small shower in the ensuite is not big enough for two grown men, but they’ve made it work in the past. </p><p>They crowd together in the tiny space. David shampoos his hair while Patrick rubs the new organic lemongrass body wash from the store over both of them. David uses the hand shower to rinse both them off before he works conditioner into his own hair and then Patrick’s. “So we get to go home tomorrow.” </p><p>“Mmm hmm.” He’s made it through. He’s sorted through papers and clothes and memories, keeping the best ones and throwing away everything else. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but he longs to go home, a deep aching need that pulls him away from this place.</p><p>David’s face twists as he circles around the actual question that he wants to ask. “It was good to see Rachel yesterday.” </p><p>“Yeah. She seems really happy.” He and Rachel have been friends and more than friends for thirty two years. He’s never seen her smile the way she had yesterday. He’s sure she’s had the same thought about him and David. </p><p>“What about you?” There it is. The question that David has been hovering around for the past couple of days.</p><p>He brushes a lock of David’s hair off of his forehead. “I’m okay.” He ghosts his fingers down David’s cheek, noting David’s skeptical look. “Really. I think I’m glad we came.” He closes his eyes as David rinses the conditioner from both of them, squeezing the water out of his hair before stretching around David to shut off the water. Getting out of the shower, he towels himself dry before wrapping an extra towel around his waist and sitting on the end of the bed. “That I’ll never come back to this house...I think I’m relieved. And a little sad. But mostly relieved.” His eyes land on the few items that he’s saved to bring home when they go. “We’ll take the best parts of that Patrick home with us and the rest, I’m more than ready to leave behind.”</p><p>“And what about the other thing?” David comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and a tube of moisturizer in his hand. He kisses Patrick quickly, a soft but perfunctory brush of his lips, before grasping his chin and dotting moisturizer on his face. The scent of orange and mint fills his senses. Obediently, Patrick closes his eyes, waiting for David to finish the morning ritual. </p><p>“What other thing?” He wants David to say it, wants him to give life to the thing that’s been gnawing inside him. </p><p>“About having your parents live so close.” David’s fingers move in small circles, rubbing the cream into his skin. He lacks the patience and interest to undertake David’s daily skincare regime, but he cherishes this routine at the start of the day.</p><p>“We’ll make it work.” He puts all his confidence into the words, ignoring the burst of nerves that floats through him.</p><p>“All done.” David lets his false confidence go unchallenged. His hands fall to Patrick’s shoulders as he opens his eyes. </p><p>“Thank you, David.” He’s not talking about the moisturizer. He rests his hands on David’s forearms, his bare skin is warm beneath his palms. “See you downstairs in a few minutes?” </p><p>David nods and kisses him quickly before heading back into the bathroom to finish his own skincare ritual. Patrick pulls on his jeans and the navy sweater that David assures him is his favorite and heads downstairs for breakfast.</p><p>*</p><p>“Honestly, you should be paying more than five dollars.” On the other side of the garage, David holds a blue glass fruit bowl up to the light. “Look at that colour. And it’s hand blown, look you can see the mark.” He flips it over to show his mom’s neighbor from across the street.</p><p>Patrick laughs to himself as David makes another sale. While he and his mom and dad are taking all offers, David has been driving hard bargains at the home decor table. And he’s still closed more sales than the rest of them combined.</p><p>“He’s really good at that.” His mom hands him a glass of lemonade. It’s only ten thirty but the day is already getting warm and the icy drink is exactly what he needs. He loves David like this. The flash of his hands, the tilt of his head, his unwavering confidence in how he sees the world. His absolute refusal to meet anyone on anything less than his own terms. David catches him watching and he smirks, a challenge hidden on his lips.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s what keeps our store in business.” He points to the second glass in her hands. “Is that for David?” David’s Givenchy sweater is lighter than it looks, but he still must be sweltering in this heat. His mom nods and he takes the glass from her. “I’ve got it.”</p><p>He winds through the tables, it’s been a good day and a lot of the stuff has gone already. There will be lots of boxes left over for the thrift store, but thankfully they won’t have to wrestle with most of the heavy furniture. </p><p>He arrives at David’s table just as he’s talking to another customer. “Okay, but this is vintage. And the set’s complete. I looked it up on eBay and they’re selling for fifty dollars, so twenty dollars is a steal.” Patrick shakes his head as David makes another sale, handing over the lemonade as the woman leaves, tea set wrapped up under her arm.</p><p>“This is very fun.” David does a happy, full body shimmy that takes in the remaining glassware and kitchen decor on the table in front of him. “I was skeptical about selling your mom’s things in this inadequate retail environment, but you were right, people will buy things out of an oil-stained garage.”</p><p>“Maybe when we get home…” David’s free hand attaches itself to its usual place on his shoulder.</p><p>“We could open a thrift store. Or a junk shop.” David’s hand clenches on his shoulder and he pulls himself up to his full height, ready to do battle. Patrick loves him like this too, indignant and rising to his teasing.</p><p>“Ugh. No. We’re not giving up our perfectly curated store for a sad shop full of broken dreams.” David’s face twists sideways at the thought. “Maybe we could go to a garage sale. Just to see if there’s anything good.”</p><p>“We can do that.” He’s been meaning to look for more baseball equipment. Schitt’s Creek needs a youth league and garage sales are a great place to find kid’s gear. “Don’t be so quick to give up on the thrift store idea, we could convert the back room…”</p><p>“Very funny.” David flaps a shooing motion at him. “Stop distracting me, I’ve got customers.” </p><p>*</p><p>“Thank you for coming.” His mom hugs him again, her embrace lingering a minute longer before hugging David. “We’ll be in Schitt’s Creek before you know it.” It’s going to be fine. He’d told them to come. He misses them. He wants them to come. It’s going to be fine.</p><p>Patrick hugs his dad before placing the last box of his childhood into the back of the car. Nerves get the better of him, he plays with his keys as David hugs his mom one last time. The movers are coming for his parents’ things on Friday, taking them to the new storage facility that Ray opened a couple of years ago while they make final arrangements for the house they purchased in Schitt’s Creek. </p><p>It’s real now. Until today, he’d been able to put off thinking about his parents’ move. It was something that happened after. After they cleaned out their house. After they had the garage sale. After he and David returned home. But after has become now. He flips the keys around on his keychain, they clink against each other.</p><p>They drive in silence for a while. David keeps one hand on his leg as he scrolls through his phone. David’s phone buzzes with text notifications and every so often David chuckles to himself. “Something going on?”</p><p>“No. It’s nothing.” David sets the phone down in his lap, his fingers dancing restlessly over the back of the case. </p><p>“David.” The phone buzzes again and David twitches, but it doesn’t pick it up.</p><p>David screws up his face and stares deliberately out the front window of the car. “Alexis says hi.” </p><p>Alexis isn’t the reason David is being evasive. “Mmm hmm.” He has a good idea what’s going on, but he wants to make David say it.</p><p>“Did I tell you she’s working on the premieres for the updated Crows franchise?” David’s mouth twists as he leans into the game.</p><p>“You did.” The silence builds between them, cut only by the repeated buzz from David’s phone. “Do you need to get that?”</p><p>“It’s fine.” David taps his fingers on his phone case.</p><p>“It’s Ronnie, isn’t it?” Patrick finally concedes the game. “How are Buffy and Angel?” Despite her antipathy for Patrick, David and Ronnie discovered a mutual passion for Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction a few years back and they text each other continuously with updates of their favorite stories. He tries not to be bothered by it.</p><p>“Ugh.” David tips his head back against the seat of the car, agony etched into the grimace on his face. “Ronnie just wanted to make sure I knew that Marcat65 finally updated their fake dating AU.”</p><p>David’s relationship with Ronnie is a mystery. Patrick tries not to be jealous but mostly he’s just successful at hiding it. What does he have to be jealous about? He loves it when people see the same things in David as he does. But Ronnie’s aggressive no-nonsense approach brings out a buoyant obsequiousness in him that continually stretches the tension between them to the limit. That she doesn’t like him rubs against him like sandpaper, rough and unforgiving. </p><p>His desire to prove to Ronnie that he’s a nice person rises to the surface. “Tell her I said hi.” </p><p>“Oh, she doesn’t care.” He huffs to himself as David loses himself in his phone again, his chuckles giving way to soft sighs as he reads through the story and texts back and forth with Ronnie. </p><p>With David occupied, he chases his own thoughts down the rabbit hole he’s been avoiding since he’d parked the car in his parents’ driveway a week before. No matter what happens, things will be different. His parents will see into all the corners of his life. Not that he’s kept things hidden, exactly, but a casual conversation over the phone is different from living the day to day. It will be fine. His parents accepted the most important thing about him without any qualms. This will be fine. </p><p>He jumps when David pokes him in the leg. “Stop that.” David’s eyes are glued to his phone.</p><p>The words that are flying around inside his head form on his tongue. “It’s going to be fine.” </p><p>“I know. Now stop thinking about it.” David tangles their fingers together, his thumb slowly stroking over the back of his hand all the way home.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“This is for you.” </p><p>David takes the glass of red wine from Patrick and his husband sits beside him on the porch swing that looks over their back garden. It’s their favorite spot on the long summer evenings, before the moths come out. The lemon-scent of the citronella candles mostly drives away most of the other bugs. And, he has Patrick to remove anything that dares to get too close. </p><p>Patrick leans against him, beer bottle held loosely in one hand. David’s eyes follow the bottle as Patrick raises it to his lips, marvelling at how such a simple gesture still sends a thrill through him, even after five years of marriage. Patrick catches him watching and smirks, running his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. </p><p>This will lead to something later, as the sun sets and Patrick pulls David inside to their bedroom on the second floor. But for now, they’re content to sit together, Patrick cuddles closer and David tugs the blanket off the back of the swing, tucking it around them both. </p><p>“So. Tomorrow.” Patrick nods against his shoulder. Clint and Marcy arrive the next day and Patrick has been wired and anxious all day. It’s been five years with just the two of them. Not that they’ve been alone exactly. Stevie spends more time at their house than she does her apartment and they have Ronnie and Jocelyn and Twyla and even, as much as he hates to admit it, Roland and Ray. And Patrick has his baseball friends and his theatre friends. Still, it’s not the same as family. While he’s been lost in thought, Patrick’s silent beside him, his thumbnail picks at the label on the beer bottle. </p><p>“Hey.” David nudges him with his shoulder. “We made it through two years of me living in the same room as my family. Your family will have to bring their A game if they want to compete.” He can’t imagine any circumstance where having Clint and Marcy in town could be a fraction as stressful as when his family had lived in Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>“Did you just make a sports reference?” As he intends, Patrick rises to the bait.</p><p>“I don’t recall saying that.” Patrick’s been in his head all week, tense and stressed about his parents’ arrival the next day, if teasing him with sports metaphors will distract him, David is willing to make the necessary sacrifice. </p><p>“That’s what I heard.” Patrick’s laughter drifts over the garden, his tension easing. David sets his empty wine glass on the deck and pushes the swing with his foot. Above them, the chains creak as they start to move. </p><p>“Hey baby, you wanna go upstairs and I can teach you some more sports terms?” Patrick squirms against him, his hands sliding under the hem of his sweater. </p><p>He shivers at the icy touch, shaking his head vigorously. “No. Nope. That’s not necessary.”</p><p>“You want to get good wood on your stick before you grind it into the crease.” Patrick puts every ounce of cheesiness into his voice as murmurs the ungodly words in a low, rough voice.</p><p>David tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go on the swing. His movement makes the swing cant side to side. “That might be the least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.” </p><p>The tension is gone from Patrick’s shoulders now. He puts his mouth next to David’s ear, his breath is hot on his cheek. “Tight end. Split the D. Choke up on the bat.”</p><p>“Okay.” David bites his lips together to hide his smile as he brings the swing to a stop. “If I take you upstairs and let you have your way with me, do you promise to never say any of those things to me again?” </p><p>Patrick laughs, a low growl, and brushes a kiss against his cheek. “No promises, baby.” David rolls his eyes and pushes his husband towards the stairs, satisfied that neither of them is thinking about what might happen tomorrow.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Housewarming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<p>“It was Room 6!”</p>
<p>“I heard it was Room 8.”</p>
<p>The voices break through his consciousness, forcing Clint awake, the insubstantial dream world fading away. Why are people yelling in his bedroom? Slowly, he squints his eyes open. The water stain on the ceiling of the Rosebud Motel stares back. Right. He’s in Schitt’s Creek. That doesn’t explain the yelling though. He closes his eyes again, pressing his face back into his pillow. Outside the window, the voices get louder.</p>
<p>“On the forums, winecatgal74 said it was Room 7.”</p>
<p>“Moira’s a big star, she would need more than one room.”</p>
<p>With a groan, he pulls the bedspread over his head and sinks into the pillow top mattress. Since they’ve been coming to the motel, Stevie has made different improvements, but the new beds and linens are probably his favorite upgrade. He and Marcy arrived in town last night, this morning they’re scheduled to meet with Ray to take possession of their new house. Today, they start a new chapter of their lives. He just hadn’t planned on starting it quite this early.</p>
<p>“Let’s get a picture in front of every room.” The voices from outside call back and forth to each other. </p>
<p>Marcy shifts beside him. He peels the pillow away from his face and turns his head to look at her. “What is going on?” Outside, the patter of footsteps is punctuated by giggles. </p>
<p>“I think the fans of Sunrise Bay have discovered Schitt’s Creek.” Marcy offers him a bemused smile, her hair is mussed against the pillow, it sticks up a bit at the back. They’ve been married forty years and it still makes his heart skip when he wakes up beside her. </p>
<p>“Can’t they discover it more quietly?” Outside, the voices gradually fade away as the Sunrise Bay fans get what they came for. Moira’s popularity has soared since she rejoined Sunrise Bay. Her face is on magazines in the supermarket checkout and clips of her are everywhere online. It’s impossible to reconcile the woman on his television with the woman who recited Jean Valjean’s Soliloquy as a prelude to Thanksgiving dinner last year. He remains grateful she didn’t burst into song. </p>
<p>Marcy chuckles and he scowls at her sourly, it’s too early to be happy about being awake. She kisses him quickly and sits up on the edge of the bed. With a groan, he joins her, reluctantly bidding farewell to the possibility of more sleep. “What time is Ray meeting us with the keys?” </p>
<p>“He said 8:30.” The digital clock beside the bed reads 7:15. “And then we’ll meet the boys for breakfast before we go to the new house.” </p>
<p>Marcy pulls on her dressing gown as she rifles through her suitcase, picking out her clothes for the day. “I guess we’re in it now.”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure we’ve been in it for a while.” All the months of planning and packing and selling their house have led to this moment, they’re finally here, ready to start the next part of their lives. He reviews his mental checklist: get the keys, check-in with the movers, get the internet and utilities set up...there’s a sharp knock at the door. </p>
<p>Hoping it’s not a confused Sunrise Bay fan, he opens the door to reveal Ray’s smiling face. Frowning, he checks the time on the clock by the bed. 7:20. “Ray? You’re awfully early.” He shifts uncomfortably as a breeze slices through his thin blue pajamas.</p>
<p>“I know, I came as soon as I could.” Ray steps inside, his hands clasped around his portfolio case. “I knew you’d want to know as soon as possible.” </p>
<p>“Want to know what?” The nervous feeling that he’s been suppressing about how easily their move had gone uncoils inside him. He should have double-checked that everything was okay before they left West Canthor yesterday. He’d intended to phone Ray then, but everything had gone so smoothly that it had slipped his mind.</p>
<p>“Just a minor setback, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to move in today.” Ray beams at him. </p>
<p>All right, some minor delay. A problem with the paperwork. A delay at the registry office. It’s not very professional, but he’s sure they can sort it out. “Oh. Well, tomorrow is okay. We’re not in a rush, we have the rest of our lives.” Marcy shrugs in agreement, looking up from where she’s preparing the small coffee maker.</p>
<p>“Ha ha ha, the rest of your lives. That’s very funny.” Ray smiles and nods. “A good sense of humor is very important. But I’m afraid you won’t be able to move in tomorrow either.”</p>
<p>“Okay, when will we be able to move in?” Mentally, he flips through the details of the purchase agreement. The terms were standard, run-of-the-mill things, nothing that should cause a delay. Given a choice, he wouldn’t have hired Ray as his realtor, but as Patrick had explained, there wasn’t a choice. He rubs a hand across his forehead and waits for Ray to continue. </p>
<p>“Well, that depends entirely on you. There’s been the tiniest set back.” Ray sounds like he’s joyously launching a new line of cookware. It grates on Clint’s nerves.</p>
<p>He prides himself on being an even, unruffled sort of person, but Ray’s exuberance tests his patience. Well. Dealing with Ray can’t be any harder than coaching a pack of unruly six-year-olds in Little League. He takes a deep breath. “What sort of setback?” </p>
<p>“Just the smallest of issues, a minor inconvenience really.” Ray hasn’t stopped smiling and Clint desperately wishes he’d get to the point. “There might be a small hole in your roof.”</p>
<p>“What?” Of all the things he’d been expecting, from lost keys to unsigned legal contracts, this wasn’t one of them.</p>
<p>“It appears Roland was taking down a tree yesterday and it went right through your roof!” Somehow, Ray’s smile is even bigger now. “But you know what I always say. There’s no better time to put in a skylight!” Clint’s mouth drops open and he takes a step back as Ray continues. “Now don’t worry, Roland assures me that his insurance will cover it. Or he volunteered to fix it himself, but trust me, you don’t want to go with that option.” Ray leans closer. “Between you and me, it’s best to make the arrangements yourself just to be sure you end up with a reputable contractor.” </p>
<p>Before Clint ventures a response, Ray beams at them again, hands over one of his business cards and leaves, shutting the motel door firmly behind him. Speechless, Clint brings a hand to his mouth. Marcy starts to speak, closing her mouth with a snap, her eyes wide. “What just happened?”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David is awake. The tiny smile at the corner of his mouth gives it away even though he hasn’t opened his eyes. Patrick slides his hand under David’s t-shirt, the trail of hair soft against his palm as he strokes up David’s chest, resting one hand over his heart. He’d never known he could want like this. His fingertips cast downwards, catching in the hair on David’s stomach. He longs to lower his mouth to David’s skin, to touch and taste. He pulls David’s hips back into his own, grinding slightly as David pushes back in response. “Morning, David.”</p>
<p>One long arm unwinds itself from the covers and a hand wraps around the back of his neck, drawing him close. “Morning.” David’s voice is thick with sleep and arousal and his fingers card roughly through the hair at the back of his neck. Fingers tug in the longer strands and Patrick leans into the touch, nuzzling at his favorite spot behind David’s ear as his husband makes an involuntary and deeply satisfying whine at the press of his lips. </p>
<p>He moves his hand lower following the trail of hair down David’s stomach, past his belly button. David shivers, he’s ticklish there, and Patrick continues, past the waistband of David’s sleep pants to the place where the thin line of hair broadens out again. He rests his hand there for a moment, breathing in David’s ear. “What do you want?”</p>
<p>David tips his head back against his shoulder, an invitation to his neck that Patrick seizes, teasing his tongue into the divet of David’s throat, making him whine. “God, your mouth, I want your mouth, please.” </p>
<p>He wants that too. He wants...he wants anything David will give him. He presses his hand against the V of David’s hips, feeling them twitch in response. “Mmm hmm.” He curls his fingers against the coarse hair and David’s hips buck at the faint touch. Moving his hand lower, he’s about to give David what he wants when his phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. </p>
<p>“Oh my god, who’s calling you at this time of the morning?” David tosses his head back, breaking free of Patrick’s hold. </p>
<p>“Ignore it.” Intent on reclaiming the moment, he pushes David onto his back, rucking up his shirt to find his nipple with his teeth and tongue. David makes a very gratifying mewling noise as Patrick’s phone buzzes again.</p>
<p>“Holy fuck.” David tugs his shirt back into place. “Just answer it.”</p>
<p>Rolling over, he fumbles on the bedside table to find his phone, grimacing at the sight of his dad’s number on the screen. He scrambles into a sitting position. It’s his parents’ first day in town, they’re probably just eager to get started. “Hi Dad.” He shifts against the headboard, willing away his erection. David runs a soft hand down his arm, kissing him softly on the shoulder before sliding out of bed and heading to the shower. </p>
<p>“Patrick. I wasn’t sure I’d catch you before you left.” His dad’s voice is stretched and uneven. Patrick winces to himself, filled with guilt about his earlier irritation. Of course his parents are stressed about the move, who wouldn’t be? He shouldn’t be annoyed that they need his help.</p>
<p>“We’re meeting at nine, right?” Patrick pulls the phone away from his ear to check the time. It’s just after eight. “Did you get the keys from Ray?” Maybe Ray is late. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s lost track of time taking photographs.Two weeks ago, Ray had been an hour late for a meeting because he’d been taking photos of road signs and lost track of the time. There’s nothing to worry about. Ray is probably just distracted.</p>
<p>“Uh, not exactly.” His dad sounds slightly bewildered, a state Patrick relates to following any interaction with Ray. “Ray says Roland dropped a tree on our house?”</p>
<p>“What?!” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, needing to feel the floor beneath his feet. In the shower, David misses the high notes as he sings Somewhere Over the Rainbow. He’d had reservations when his parents had bought the house next to Roland and Jocelyn’s but the options in Schitt’s Creek are so limited that he’d convinced himself everything would be okay. He should have listened to his gut.</p>
<p>“Apparently there’s a hole in the roof. We’re going over to look at it. Maybe we can meet for breakfast later than we’d planned?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.” David’s singing filters out over the sound of the water. If his dad jumps off the phone before David finishes, he’ll find a way to distract David from the delayed breakfast. Wait. It could be weeks before his parents move into their house; they’ll need somewhere to stay. Wincing to himself, he makes the offer. “Our guest room is still free…” </p>
<p>There’s the soft murmur of conversation in the background before his dad comes back on the phone. “We’ll be fine at the motel. Stevie’s made so many improvements and the insurance will cover the cost.” Guilt follows hard on the heels of relief at his dad’s words. </p>
<p>“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” He ends the call and sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone. David shuts off the water and comes into the bedroom. </p>
<p>“What’s going on?” David is damp and flushed from the shower and Patrick wishes there was time to push him down on the bed and go back to what they’d started.  </p>
<p>“Roland put a hole in the roof of my parents’ new house.” Saying the words out loud doesn’t make them sound any more believable.</p>
<p>“I wish I could say I’m surprised.” David sits at the dressing table that Patrick had bought him for his birthday last year and begins his skincare regime. “I told you that buying that house was a terrible idea.” David’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his perfectly coiffed hair when he’d found out and he’d almost called Ray to prevent the sale from going through before Patrick could stop him.</p>
<p>“You know my mom fell in love with the kitchen.” He kisses the back of David’s neck on his way to the bathroom. “Ray suggested they put in a skylight.” </p>
<p>“He would.” David dabs the first of several products across his forehead. “So what does that mean?” David rubs the cream in small circles into his skin. The cream disappears beneath David’s fingertips, the familiar ritual soothes Patrick’s anxieties about the day to come. </p>
<p>“Well, it means that we’re not meeting them until ten o’clock, so if you’re patient, I’ll make you a pre-breakfast snack.” Having missed his opportunity in the shower, an offer of food is the only viable option to buy David’s goodwill.</p>
<p>“You know I’m never patient about food.” David smirks at him in the mirror, he uncaps the second bottle, squirting a dime-sized dollop of the product into his palm. </p>
<p>“I guess my parents are going to have to stay at the motel a bit longer. I offered, but…” </p>
<p>David picks up on his unease and his eyes snap back to Patrick’s. “But you didn’t insist.” </p>
<p>“No, I didn't insist.” David nods, his thoughts evident on his face. Patrick smiles softly and takes his quiet worries about having his parents move to Schitt’s Creek into the shower. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Have you seen my sweater?” David pitches his voice so it carries through the house and moments later his husband appears in the doorway. He’s been using the spare bedroom as a walk-in closet since they moved in five years ago and the setup is far from ideal. Soon. One day he’ll have a proper storage for his clothes. But until then, he’s stuck with this incorrect mishmash of storage racks and melamine shelving.</p>
<p>“Which one?” Patrick leans in the doorway, his arms folded. David hesitates. His OAMC sweater is missing, lost amid the sea of black and white. But a brand name won’t help Patrick find his sweater for him.</p>
<p>“Um…it’s the cashmere one...with, you know...” He gestures towards his hips. </p>
<p>“Is it the black and white one?” Patrick smirks at him, always happy for the opportunity to tease him. He screws up his face in disgust, trying to communicate the importance of the situation. </p>
<p>“Okay.” David makes a face at him and gestures to the room, where temporary shelving and clothes racks fill the space. “It’s in here somewhere.” According to the spreadsheet that Patrick had put together when they moved in, renovations of his closet weren’t on the schedule until next year. They’d both agreed that upgrading the kitchen was the biggest priority, something David regrets every time he searches through his clothes.</p>
<p>“Does it have stripes? Zig-zags? Polka dots?” That he owns sweaters matching all of those descriptions is irrelevant. He rolls his eyes in disgust and huffs at Patrick. </p>
<p>“I hate you. And it has swirls.” He waves his hands in a circular motion by his waist. “Around the bottom.” </p>
<p>Like a homing pigeon, Patrick steps into the room and pulls a sweater from the bottom of the shelf nearest the door. “This one?”</p>
<p>He clutches the sweater to his chest, pulling Patrick’s hands along with it so they’re pressed together. “How do you do that?” Patrick shrugs, he releases the sweater and slides his hands around David’s waist. </p>
<p>“It’s a gift.” Patrick kisses him, tugging one hand free to grasp the back of David’s neck. Patrick pulls them tightly together, trapping David’s hands between their bodies. He has no choice. He kisses Patrick as he clutches his sweater. “You know, maybe you should call Ray and have him put together a system for you.” </p>
<p>“First of all, Ray is never coming anywhere near my clothes. And secondly, I thought we couldn’t do anything until next year?” A flicker of hope ignites inside him. He has so many ideas for how he wants to design the space. The window gets morning light, perfect for when he’s choosing the day’s wardrobe. He’ll change the configuration of the lighting and… He wrenches his attention back to what Patrick is saying.</p>
<p>“We’re seeing a bigger return on the partnership with the Rosebud than I projected this year.” Patrick steps back and David pulls the sweater over his head, being careful not to muss up his hair. “So if you want to get a quote, we can move it up.” Their first few years as the official supplier for the motels were break-even but now that the motels are established and gaining a reputation, they’ve been busier than ever.</p>
<p>“Won’t that mess up your pretty spreadsheet?” Patrick has walked him through his spreadsheet for the house multiple times. David appreciates the different colored tabs and the way Patrick makes the numbers shift and change but most of their sessions have ended with his mind (and his mouth) on other things.</p>
<p>Patrick grins, wide and bright. “No, because I’ll get to make amendments. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.” </p>
<p>“You’re such a nerd.” David calls after him as he starts down the stairs. “I can’t believe I married a nerd who loves spreadsheets.” </p>
<p>“I love you, too.” Patrick’s voice echoes back up the stairs. Searching through the practical but inelegant shelving unit, he pulls out his black skinny jeans. As he’s considering his outfit, his phone chimes with a Facetime call from his sister.</p>
<p>“David!” Alexis’s face fills the screen, making him smile involuntarily. His smile turns to a grimace at her first words. “Aren’t you supposed to be at breakfast with Clint and Marcy right now?”</p>
<p>“Well, why are you calling me if you thought I’d be at breakfast?” Sitting on his cedar chest, he rolls his eyes at his sister and she mirrors the gesture. In some ways, it’s like they’ve never been apart. At the same time, every mile of the distance between here and New York stretches between them like an unbroken thread. “If you must know, Roland has destroyed their house already, so breakfast has been rescheduled.” </p>
<p>“Oh my god, David. How could you let them buy that house next to Roland’s?” For all her faults, Alexis understands instantly why this is such an awful idea.</p>
<p>“I know! I I told them it wasn’t a good idea.” He had made a point of telling Clint and Marcy that buying the house next to Roland and Jocelyn’s was a big mistake until Patrick had given him that look that said he was about to go too far. This is what happens when he trusts his husband.</p>
<p>“Okay, David. I just wanted to call and make sure you were holding up okay.” Alexis taps her finger at him through the tiny screen.</p>
<p>Instantly, he’s on the wrong foot, like Alexis has figured out something he should already know. “Why...why wouldn’t I be holding up okay? I’m holding up fine. Why would you think I’m not fine?”</p>
<p>“This is a big day for you, David. Your in-laws live in town now. This is an opportunity for them to get to know you in a whole new way.” Alexis says the words matter-of-factly, as though she’s reporting on the weather outside her window.</p>
<p>“I’ll have you know that Clint and Marcy think I’m pretty great.” He doesn’t understand why, but all of the evidence indicates that Patrick’s parents like him, maybe even love him. It’s inexplicable, but slowly he’s learned to accept it.</p>
<p>“I know, David. But now that they live practically on top of you, they’re bound to see you in a new light.” Ugh. She’s probably right. They visit for a week over Christmas and talk on the phone, but that’s different than being exposed to him every day. He’s an acquired taste. Just because Clint and Marcy like him now, doesn’t mean they’ll like him better if they see more of him. Anxiety expands in his chest.</p>
<p>No. It will be fine. Alexis has only met Clint and Marcy a few times. He has nothing to worry about. “Did you call to help?”</p>
<p>“I’m just trying to support you, David.” Alexis is using her ‘why aren’t you thanking me?’ voice.</p>
<p>He scowls at her image on the screen and she rolls her eyes in response. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of your support for today.”</p>
<p>“Ugh, David.” His sister flicks her hair over her shoulder. Downstairs, Patrick calls his name. </p>
<p>“I have to go, Patrick made food. So unless you’re planning to <em>help</em> me some more…” He gets up and walks to the door, hoping his sister will somehow take the hint.</p>
<p>“Fine, David. Tell your little button that I said hi.” Alexis boops the screen with her finger. Instinctively, he leans back from her virtual touch.</p>
<p>“I will tell <em>my husband</em> that you called.” He hangs up the phone and shakes out his fingers to dispel his sudden anxiety. Patrick worries about having Clint and Marcy so close, but it’s never bothered him before. But thanks to Alexis, it’s bothering him now. With a sigh and one last look at the closet, he goes downstairs to join Patrick in the kitchen. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>After getting the grim news from Ray, Clint announces that he’s going for a walk, the door closes behind him before she can respond. Both her husband and her son share this propensity for trying to exercise away their feelings. Neither one of them are as good at it as they think they are. Marcy scowls at the door. This was not how she wanted to spend her first day in Schitt’s Creek. She should be at breakfast with David and Patrick not trying to determine if her new house is even habitable. First things first. Before they do anything, she needs to extend their stay at the motel. </p>
<p>In the motel office, Stevie sits in her usual place behind the desk, typing on a sleek laptop. “Good morning, Mrs Brewer. I heard about the house, are you all right?”</p>
<p>“Good morning Stevie. And call me Marcy, we’re nearly family.” Stevie spends so much time at David and Patrick’s house that she almost lives there. “It looks like we’re going to need to extend our stay.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Let me just bump some of these Sunrise Bay fans for you.” Stevie grins at the thought as she types on the laptop. “Okay, I’ve put an indefinite hold on your room.” She gestures to the stainless steel coffee bar in the corner of the office. “Would you and Mr Brewer like a complementary cinnamon bun?”</p>
<p>Before she takes Stevie up on the offer, the door bursts open and Roland steps inside. “Stevie, I’m going to need to take today off, something’s come up.”</p>
<p>“First, I’m not your boss, you don’t need my permission to take the day off. And secondly, I’m pretty sure everyone in town knows that <em>something</em> came up.’” Stevie puts air quotes around the last two words and she gestures to Marcy.</p>
<p>The blood drains out of Roland's face. “Oh, right, well, of course you know what I’m talking about. I’ll just go take care of that thing right away. I know a guy who used to be a roofer, I’m sure he can fix it right up.”</p>
<p>Ray’s words of caution ring in her ears. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure we can take care of it.” Nothing about Roland makes her want to entrust him with any repairs.</p>
<p>Roland pulls himself to his full height. “Are you saying that I’m not responsible enough to fix this problem?”</p>
<p>“No, of course not, it’s just…we don’t want to bother you.” She trails off weakly as Roland sighs, affronted.</p>
<p>“I’ll have my guy come over this morning. You won’t even know he’s been there.” Roland spins on his heel and leaves. </p>
<p>With a sigh, Stevie pulls out a sticky pad from beneath the desk and scratches a name and number on it. “Ronnie’s the person to call.”</p>
<p>Now she’s obligated to give Roland a chance to fix his mistake. How did this suddenly get so complicated? “If Roland says he’ll take care of it…”</p>
<p>“Trust me, either way, you’re gonna want to give Ronnie a call.” Stevie hands over the piece of paper with a pointed look. </p>
<p>“Well, thank you, Stevie.” Awkwardly, she gathers up the cinnamon buns and the sticky note. “I’d better go see if Clint is done walking off his feelings yet.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Patrick does the same thing.” Stevie beams at this revelation.</p>
<p>“Who do you think he learned it from?” She frees a hand to open the door. “You know Stevie, I think this is a great opportunity for you and I to get to know each other better.”</p>
<p>Stevie grins at her conspiratorially. “I think that’s something that can benefit both of us.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>David and Patrick are already at the cafe when she and Clint arrive, sitting side-by-side, their heads tilted towards each other as they talk in hushed tones. She and Clint slide into the booth across from them, uttering various greetings. The seats have been recovered since the last time they visited, the tattered vinyl has been replaced by a patterned cloth in the same mustard yellow. She frowns at the unattractive color and David catches her eye. </p>
<p>“I know. But Twyla wanted to make sure people still felt at home. I can’t see how such an awful color could make anyone feel at home, but—” David breaks off as Twyla approaches with the menus.</p>
<p>“Good morning.” Twyla hands around the menus. “Mr and Mrs Brewer, I am so sorry about what happened to you guys. You know, my second cousin was killed when a tree fell on his home.” Twyla beams at them. “Of course, he was living in his car at the time. Can I bring you some coffee?”</p>
<p>Alarmed by this horrifying story, she widens her eyes at Patrick, but he nonchalantly unfolds his overly large menu, battling with David in the small space. “Um...yes, we’d love some coffee.”</p>
<p>Twyla lingers for a moment. “Patrick, if you have some time tomorrow, I’d love if you could stop by, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” </p>
<p>“Uh, sure. Is nine thirty okay?” Patrick’s eyebrows scrunch together, but Twyla simply nods.</p>
<p>“Nine thirty it is. I’ll give you some time with the menus. The Eggs Benedict are on special, but I should warn you that George hasn’t quite mastered the hollandaise sauce.” Across the table, David wrinkles his nose at the thought. </p>
<p>Patrick folds up his menu. “How does it look with the house?” </p>
<p>She and Clint exchange a glance. They’d visited the house earlier before coming to the cafe. The tree had been removed leaving a gaping hole, surrounded by crushed shingles and broken wood. “Well, the good news that only part of the tree went through the roof.”</p>
<p>“And the bad news?” Patrick grimaces, his voice tight. </p>
<p>She winces, not sure she believes what she’s about to say. “Roland says he’s going to fix it?”</p>
<p>“Trust me, you do not want to let that happen.” David hands his menu to Patrick, who places it in a pile with the others.</p>
<p>“That’s what Stevie said. She gave me a name. Ronnie someone? Are they any good?” She trusts Stevie, but she trusts David and Patrick more. She frowns as Patrick licks his lips, his hands tighten on the edge of the table. </p>
<p>“As good as it gets around here.” Patrick drops his eyes, picking at a chip in the tabletop.  Before she presses him about his trepidation, a woman approaches their table. </p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” The woman has short-cropped reddish hair and she crosses her arms as she glares at Patrick. “You think if we were in a big city that you could find a better option?”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t— Hi Ronnie.” Patrick squirms under her intense gaze, his voice is high and deferential. “Ronnie, these are my parents.”</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you. I hear you have a problem with your roof.” Ronnie puts her hands on her hips and stares at them intently, her eyes deliberately skipping over Patrick.</p>
<p>This is a woman who doesn’t mess around. Marcy likes her immediately. She holds out her hand. “Marcy Brewer. And this is my husband, Clint. Stevie said you could help us?”</p>
<p>Ronnie’s eyes focus on Patrick. He tilts his head; a wolf pup submitting to the pack leader. The two of them hold a silent conversation before Ronnie turns back to her. “For Stevie, I’d be happy to take a look. Shall we say one o’clock?”</p>
<p>“We really appreciate it. It’s the house with the brick house with the white veranda…” The house must have an address, but she doesn't remember what it is.</p>
<p>Ronnie cuts her short. “I know where it is.” With that, Ronnie gives Patrick another hard look and nods at David. “Nice to see you, David.” </p>
<p>“Likewise, Ronnie.” David bites back a smile as she walks away. He takes a sip of his coffee as his free hand comes up and rubs Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick huffs at him, but doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>Marcy searches Patrick’s face before glancing at David. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. “Did we make a mistake? Is there something we should know about Ronnie?”</p>
<p>David’s hand scratches gently at Patrick’s shoulder. A pout forms on Patrick’s face, his eyes are riveted to his coffee cup. It’s David who responds. “Oh, she does not like Patrick. Goes way back to the baseball, right, honey?”</p>
<p>“The bathroom incident. At the store.” Patrick’s eyes haven’t left the tabletop and David’s hand smooths small circles into his shoulder. </p>
<p>“Right. Anyway, you don’t need to worry. She’ll do a good job as long as you don’t interfere.” David chuckles as Patrick’s pout gets more pronounced and Marcy vows to ask David for the full story later. She pulls the menus into a pile as Twyla brings their coffee and takes their orders. </p>
<p>“Morning Brewers!” The blond woman in the pink floral sweatshirt chirps at them. “And David. Is it Brewer-Roses? Or Rose-Brewers? I can never remember.”</p>
<p>“Morning Jocelyn.” Patrick smiles politely as the woman beams at him expectantly. “Have you met my parents?”</p>
<p>“It is so nice to meet you.” Somehow Jocelyn becomes even peppier. “I brought you these Nanaimo bars as a welcome gift. And an apology.” Her smile falters, but only slightly. </p>
<p>“Uh, well, thank you.” Marcy searches for somewhere to set the tupperware container, finally passing it to Clint to set on the corner of the table beside the napkin dispenser. Jocelyn’s exuberance rubs her the wrong way. She plasters on a fake smile, not wanting to offend one of David and Patrick’s friends.</p>
<p>“Anyway, I just wanted to come by and make sure we didn’t start off on the wrong foot as neighbors. It must be a shock, what happened to your house, but Rollie didn’t mean any harm and I know he’ll get it fixed up as good as new.” Jocelyn beams at them, it’s just as saccharin as the kittens on her sweatshirt. What kind of grown woman wears a sweatshirt with kittens on it? Marcy grimaces back at her, hoping Jocelyn doesn’t sense her insincerity.</p>
<p>“Well, actually…” She should tell Jocelyn about Ronnie so there’s no confusion. </p>
<p>“Don’t you worry, you’ll be able to move in before you know it.” Jocelyn taps her hand on the table. “Enjoy your brunch! I can’t wait for us to get to know each other as neighbors.” A stern voice pulls her attention on the far side of the cafe. “Rollie, you stop that right now.” With no further explanation, she’s gone, stooping to extract a seven-year-old boy from underneath another party’s table. </p>
<p>Confusion washes over her. “Did that child cut down the tree?”</p>
<p>Patrick twists in his seat to where Jocelyn has retrieved her son. She’s dusting off his clothes with one hand as he squirms. “No, they’re both named Roland. You’ll get used to it.”</p>
<p>“It’s difficult to tell them apart because both Rolands have the same level of common sense you find in small children.” David offers his opinion and Patrick chuckles in agreement. “But unfortunately, the mayor is allowed to use power tools.”</p>
<p>Twyla brings their food and the conversation shifts to more mundane topics. This is what she’d hoped for when they’d moved to Schitt’s Creek. To indulge in these everyday moments with her son and his husband. “We should do this more often.”</p>
<p>David and Patrick exchange a glance before Patrick replies. “Of course, we’d like that.”</p>
<p>“How about next week, then?” When Patrick had lived at home, they’d had breakfast once or twice a week. It was the perfect time to catch up on Patrick’s job and their summer vacation plans and the week’s baseball games. </p>
<p>David and Patrick exchange a second look. Patrick smiles as he replies, but it’s half-hearted at best. “That sounds great.”</p>
<p>Before she reassures herself that everything is okay, Twyla comes to take their plates and the moment is lost. David and Patrick say their goodbyes, leaving with promises to check in later. She chews on her lip as they leave, David’s hand in its usual position on Patrick’s shoulder, her son laughing at something he’s said. She pushes aside her worry. Whatever is bothering Patrick, they have lots of time to figure it out now that he lives just minutes away.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick drums his fingers on the counter at the store. David is late. He should be used to it by now. David is always late. David has been consistently late for the five years they’ve been married and the two years before that. David being late is the state of the universe, an expected event that happens inevitably, like gravity. It shouldn’t bother him. He drums his fingers on the counter again, checking the time. Nine thirty-two. He’s late to meet Twyla.</p>
<p>Twyla won’t care, but years of working in a corporate office have left their mark on his punctuality. He drums his fingers again. He chews on his cheek, curiosity about why Twyla wants to meet getting the better of him. He wouldn’t say that he and Twyla are friends. They know each other the way people in small towns often do, in a way that’s friendly but not close. Twyla would drop everything if he needed help in an emergency, but she doesn’t remember when his birthday is. The bell over the door jingles, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Oh my god, what took you so long?” </p>
<p>David takes off his sunglasses with one hand, a brown paper bag clenched in the other. “I didn’t get breakfast.” He rolls his eyes as David brushes his lips against his cheek, his free hand finding Patrick’s shoulder. “Did you know that Twyla is waiting for you?”</p>
<p>“You’re unbelievable.” Shaking his head, he gathers up his portfolio case and comes around the counter, kissing David properly, letting his lips linger just a fraction longer than is strictly appropriate for a place of business. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”</p>
<p>He jogs across the street to the cafe. Inside Twyla stands behind the counter, drying coffee cups. “Patrick. Can I get you anything?”</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late. A tea would be great.” He takes a chair at the end of the counter, waiting as Twyla passes him a cup of hot water and a tea bag.</p>
<p>“So you’re probably wondering what’s going on.” Twyla puts the cup down with the others.</p>
<p>“Uh, maybe a little.” He puts the tea bag in the mug, waiting for it to steep. </p>
<p>“I heard a rumor that you were thinking of starting a youth baseball league.” Twyla bounces on her toes, giving him a bright-eyed look. “My cousin played baseball in high school and it kept him out of juvie. Of course, he got caught robbing a grocery store when he was eighteen, but it did wonders for him while he was in school.”</p>
<p>He blinks away Twyla’s story. After all these years, the stories are just part of the fabric of the cafe. “Um. Well, it was just an idea at this point. We’d have to get equipment and uniforms and we’d need to see if any kids are interested.” He wishes he’d been able to review the spreadsheet he’d put together, but Twyla has caught him off guard.</p>
<p>“I want to help.” Twyla nods decisively. </p>
<p>“I appreciate that, but Cafe Tropicale is already doing enough by sponsoring one team, I couldn’t ask you to do more.” Business has been steadily improving in Schitt’s Creek over the past five years, but Twyla’s margins must be thin.</p>
<p>“Not the cafe. I want to help.” Twyla pauses and leans towards him. “Alexis didn’t tell you, did she?”</p>
<p>“Tell me what?” Alexis and Twyla are friends, but how does David’s sister fit into this conversation? His tea has steeped and he takes out the tea bag and sets it on the saucer, blowing on the cup before he takes the first sip.</p>
<p>“You didn’t wonder how I could buy the cafe?” </p>
<p>He hasn’t given it much thought, presuming that Twyla had worked out favorable terms with the former owner. “I guess I assumed a mortgage and a business plan.”</p>
<p>Twyla’s voice drops and she peers over his shoulder, making sure no one overhears them. Instinctively, he leans closer. “I won the lottery. About ten years ago.”</p>
<p>Patrick recoils in his seat, his mouth falling open. Of all the things he had expected her to say, this wasn’t even on the list. “So you’re saying…”</p>
<p>“I’m saying that whatever you need for the team, I’m happy to help.” A bell rings in the kitchen and Twyla’s head snaps up. “Hang on a second.” She gathers the plates for the order and disappears to deliver them to a table across the room. Patrick stares after her, pieces falling into place. The way Twyla had purchased the cafe so easily and how quickly she’d completed the  upgrades make sense now. If anything, he’s surprised Alexis had kept it a secret. </p>
<p>He’s always thought of Twyla as someone who was happy but not very serious. Someone who had never cared to search for more than what she had but this revelation makes him see her in a fresh light. Ugh. He shouldn’t make assumptions about people. He hates the surprise that flares in people’s eyes when they see him with David. Why should Twyla be any different? They’ve worked across the street from one another nearly every day for the past seven years and he’s barely attempted to talk to her outside of the cafe. </p>
<p>“So what do you think?” Twyla slides a stack of empty plates through the pass way to the kitchen. </p>
<p>There’s no question that Twyla’s support could make his idea a reality, but he wants to do more than just take her money. “I would love to have your help, but on one condition.”</p>
<p>“Okay?” Twyla frowns, her forehead wrinkling.</p>
<p>“I don’t just want your money, I want you to help me plan the project.” </p>
<p>A smile breaks over Twyla’s face. He’s made the right decision. “I would love that.”</p>
<p>He finishes his tea, chatting with Twyla about other things and planning to come back next week to build a plan. He tries to pay for the tea, but she just laughs at him. He gets up to leave, turning back at the last second. “You know I’m going to have to tell David about this, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Twyla tidies away his tea cup. “I’m surprised Alexis didn’t tell him already.”</p>
<p>He’s almost to the door when his mom comes into the cafe. “Patrick. I love being able to run into you like this.”</p>
<p>“Hi mom.” It’s strange to think he could stumble across his parents at any time, that they’re here, in Schitt’s Creek and not hundreds of miles away.</p>
<p>“We were just talking about you. The game’s on tonight, so we’ll see you at seven as usual?” It’s phrased like a question, but saying no means a complicated discussion that he doesn’t want to have in the middle of the cafe. </p>
<p>“Um…” It had been a regular thing when he lived in West Canthor. He’d spend nearly every evening there was a game on at his parents’ place. He’d been avoiding Rachel, spending time with his family so he wouldn’t have to spend time alone with her. Giving up his evening with David is far less appealing. Still, it’s only their second night in town. “Sure. Seven o’clock.”</p>
<p><em>You’re going to have to set some boundaries soon,</em> he mutters to himself as he crosses the street. <em>Otherwise you’re going to end up right where you were before you moved here.</em></p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The blue tarp flaps in the wind. Clint and Roland stand side by side, staring at the house. “What did I tell you? Good as new.” Clint winces as Roland claps him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“No offense, Roland, but nothing about that is ‘as good as new.’” He’s trying very hard to be polite, not wanting to get on the wrong side of the mayor on their second day in town.</p>
<p>“Hey pal, that is a brand new tarp from Canadian Tire. I bought it myself.” Roland pulls himself up to his full height, ready to defend the quality of his tarp. “Paid top dollar for the heavy duty one.” </p>
<p>Shaking his head, he tries a different tack. “So when is your friend coming back?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Before he answers Roland’s question, a crackling sound pulls his attention to the roof.  One corner of the tarp has come loose, it snaps in the wind.</p>
<p>His thinly papered over control slips. “Roland, there’s still a giant hole in my roof. We can’t move in until it’s fixed.” Why is he belaboring this point? Ronnie will be here shortly and by all accounts, she’s the right person to fix the roof.</p>
<p>“You should have thought of that before you bought the house.” </p>
<p>This might be the most frustrating conversation he’s ever been part of, and he was a lawyer for 30 years. “There wasn’t a hole in the roof when we bought it!”</p>
<p>“I thought you’d be more grateful.” Roland crosses his arms and stares at him defiantly. “Duane had to come out here on his day off.”</p>
<p>“Uh...” For a moment, he’s rendered speechless. But he’ll be damned if he’ll thank Roland for putting a hole in his roof and then failing to fix it. “Thank you for showing me.” It’s the best he can manage.</p>
<p>“Was that so hard? You’re welcome.” Roland slaps him on the shoulder. “See you over the fence, neighbor!”</p>
<p>He’s still standing on the sidewalk staring at the house when Ronnie pulls up in her truck. “Who put that tarp up there?”</p>
<p>He tilts his head towards Roland’s house. “Who do you think?”</p>
<p>Ronnie grunts in understanding and pulls the ladder off her truck. Before he can offer to hold it for her, she’s slung her tool belt around her waist and scampered up onto the roof like a squirrel. She attaches an anchor to the ridgeline and clips her safety harness to it. Marcy will kill him if he follows Ronnie up on the roof, so he waits as she pulls aside the tarp and examines the hole, taking some photos and making some notes. Pulling some nails out of the pocket of her tool belt, she fastens the tarp properly and joins him on the ground.</p>
<p>“So the good news is that your main beam isn’t cracked. Bad news? You’re gonna need to replace three of the rafters. Probably take a week or two.” Ronnie pulls up the photos on her phone and hands it to him. One rafter has broken in half and two others are splintered and badly cracked. “Serious question. Do you want to put in a skylight?”</p>
<p>He hands back the phone. “Have you been talking to Ray?” He chuckles but there’s no sign of a joke on Ronnie’s face. “Wait, you’re serious?”</p>
<p>Ronnie shrugs and secures the ladder in the back of her truck. “Now’s the time. I’ll get you a quote.” She opens the door of her truck and tosses her tool belt inside. “Hell of a housewarming. Welcome to Schitt’s Creek.”</p>
<p>With a frustrated sigh, Clint watches her drive away before he begins his walk back to the motel. “Yeah. Welcome to Schitt’s Creek.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“What I want to do is put in a door through this wall here.” David ducks around the portable clothing rack and gestures to the wall that adjoins the master bedroom. He visualizes it. The recessed lighting, the floor to ceiling cupboards, the angled three piece mirror. “And a window seat, just over there.” He gestures to the window that looks out over the back garden.</p>
<p>“Okay, hold on.” Ronnie flips to an open page in her notebook. “I need to take some measurements and get more details if I’m going to put together a design for you.” Ronnie makes a note on the page, David follows her gaze as she considers the layout of the room.</p>
<p>Open shelving lines one wall, overflowing with pants and shoes and his non-cashmere sweaters. Assorted metal clothing racks fill the rest of the space, each one neatly organized,  bursting at the seams with button up shirts and skirts and formalwear and far too many items he’s forgotten he even owns. His clothing deserves better. He deserves better. At the very least, he deserves to be able to find things. </p>
<p>It’s been fine, having his clothes this way. It’s miles better than the motel and he and Patrick had both agreed on other priorities for the house. But now that his walk-in closet dream was on the verge of reality, he’s excited, like an overstimulated Lindsay Lohan on New Year’s Eve.</p>
<p>“Um, I did a design already.” He confesses to Ronnie with a wince. He and Ronnie have always gotten along, they might even be friends, but the slightest provocation will make her defensive of her turf. He flips open his journal to the right page and hands it to her uncertainly, hoping she won’t think he’s overstepped.</p>
<p>Ronnie looks at the proffered page for a long moment, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. His heart sinks. She’s going to refuse to do the job. She’s offended and she’s going to refuse and he’ll be stuck with one of Ray’s off-the-shelf closet organization systems.</p>
<p>“Not bad. Pretty good, in fact.” Ronnie nods approvingly and a shiver of approval runs through him, like he’s beaten the odds and succeeded. “It just needs a few more technical details. Can I…?” He nods and Ronnie pulls out her measuring tape, adding details to his drawings as she works her way around the perimeter of the room.</p>
<p>“Do you—“ He breaks off as the doorbell rings. “I’ll be right back.” Hurrying down the stairs, he hopes it’s not the alarm system salesman again, with his intrusive questions about whether David feels safe in his home. Just like with moths, David always makes Patrick deal with him when he’s home.</p>
<p>He opens the front door to find Marcy on the doorstep. “Hi?” </p>
<p>“David, honey, is this okay?” Her hands twist around a collection of paint samples, an uncertain look on her face. </p>
<p>“Uh, sure.” He holds the door open to let her in. “Patrick’s not here, his vendor pick-ups ran late. If you want, you can wait until he gets back.” </p>
<p>“I’m not here for Patrick. I’m actually here to see you.” Marcy’s words send an unexpected jolt of nervousness through him. This is how it starts, with little glimpses into his life and before he knows it, Clint and Marcy will sit Patrick down and ask if they’re sure he’s made the right choice. No. That’s ridiculous. They would never. </p>
<p>He pulls his thoughts back from the edge of the precipice and pastes on a smile. “I was just going to open a bottle of wine?”</p>
<p>“That sounds lovely, dear.” Marcy pats him on the arm. Before they make it to the kitchen, Ronnie comes down the stairs. </p>
<p>“I think I’ve got everything I need.” She nods at Marcy and hands David’s journal back to him. “I pulled out your design. I’ll do a quote and get it back to you.”</p>
<p>“We...we were just going to have a glass of wine. Do you want to join us?” He and Ronnie rarely socialize, not like this. They text each other and occasionally they meet at the cafe for coffee, but he doesn’t go to her place or invite her over. </p>
<p>Ronnie nods. “Why not? This is my last appointment of the day.”</p>
<p>Ronnie and Marcy follow him into the kitchen. They sit down on the walnut and white leather high back stools along the kitchen island while David pulls a bottle of the store’s second-best red from the wine rack. Pulling a corkscrew out of the drawer, he pours three glasses. </p>
<p>Marcy accepts her glass and takes a sip. “David, I need your advice.” She spreads the paint chips out on the counter. “I want to repaint the kitchen before we move in and I’m not sure which color to choose.”</p>
<p>He glances sideways at Ronnie, not wanting to step on her toes. “I mean, Ronnie’s the professional…but I do have a few ideas.”</p>
<p>“Knock yourself out.” Ronnie waves a hand at him and he gathers up the paint chips, discarding the ones that are unacceptable.</p>
<p>“You know, if you’re going to paint the kitchen, you should do the living room at the same time. It will create a more cohesive space and you won’t have to move the furniture later.” Marcy nods and Ronnie raises an eyebrow at him.</p>
<p>“These are your best choices.” He holds out three of the paint strips, a soft buttery yellow that darkens to a straw-gold color, a pale blue-grey that deepens to a Wedgewood blue and a pearl grey that morphs into a darker slate. “Paint the walls the lighter color and use a shade that’s a couple of tones darker on the cabinets.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, dear.” Marcy lines the three paint strips up in front of her, studying them. “I don’t like the grey.” She pushes it into the pile with the ones David has already discarded.</p>
<p>“Go with the yellow.” Ronnie offers from around her glass of wine. “You want the kitchen to feel warm and inviting, pick the yellow. Not like this here.” She gestures to David and Patrick’s black and white kitchen.</p>
<p>The sleek, clean lines of dark grey cabinets are accented by a white quartz countertop. A patterned black and white tile backsplash breaks up what might otherwise be an unwelcoming space. “I’ll have you know this kitchen matches my aesthetic.” </p>
<p>“It’s very nice, dear.” Marcy reaches across the island to pat his hand. Her tone is the same one Patrick uses when he’s teasing but when David narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, she smiles beatifically and takes another swallow of her wine. She puts the blue chip in the discard pile, tucking the other into her purse. It’s the right choice. The yellow suits Marcy’s warm personality much better than a cooler color would. </p>
<p>They empty the first bottle of wine and part of the second. Ronnie shares stories from her extensive history with Roland. “This isn’t the first time Roland’s had trouble with roofs.” Ronnie cackles as she shares the story. “He nearly fell off of the Town Hall roof putting up Christmas lights.” </p>
<p>Ronnie’s stories get wilder and wilder as they finish the second bottle and move on to the third. “I think I’m drunk.” He announces over Marcy’s giggles. Oh no. What if Marcy is drunk, too? Her second night in Schitt’s Creek and he’s gotten his mother-in-law drunk. “Are you guys drunk?” His question only makes Marcy giggle even harder. He’s pretty sure she’s drunk. Patrick will be so angry with him. A giggle escapes him, merging with Marcy and Ronnie’s laughter. Why had he been scared of having Marcy here? This is so fun. Marcy is fun. He snorts, ending in a loud hiccough that makes Ronnie snort and all three of them dissolve into giggles.</p>
<p>“David.” He swings around, nearly swiping the wine bottle off the counter. When did Patrick get here? His husband stands in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a bemused look on his face. “David, did you get my mom drunk?”</p>
<p>“Patrick!” God he loves Patrick. Patrick makes him happy, even when he’s mad. And he’s so sexy in those jeans. They’re so tight. Patrick’s here. He missed Patrick. He needs to say hello. He staggers unevenly around the counter, planting a kiss somewhere near Patrick’s mouth. Patrick frowns, the corners of his mouth crinkle upwards as he fights a smile. “We were just schel— celebrating.”</p>
<p>“Hi honey!” Marcy beams gleefully at them both and raises her glass at Patrick. “This wine from the store is very good.”</p>
<p>“Your husband looks like a thumb.” Ronnie chimes in from the end of the island as she drains her glass.</p>
<p>“Good to see you too, Ronnie.” David rubs his hand along Patrick’s shoulders, trying to ease the tension that’s suddenly emerged. “What are you guys celebrating?”</p>
<p>“Your mom picked the paint colors for her kitchen!” David sways towards his husband and Patrick’s arm comes around his waist, steadying him. </p>
<p>“O-kay.” As though he’s befuddled by this pronouncement, Patrick tilts his head and purses his lips, like his mom’s decision isn’t cause for celebration. </p>
<p>“The correct paint color is the basement...basis for the design of the entire house.” Patrick nods, his eyebrows raised. Why can’t Patrick see how serious this is? The paint color ties the entire house together. Surely he’s been over this with Patrick before. He must remember to take Patrick through his mood boards again.</p>
<p>“Look!” Marcy waves the paint strip at them. “It’s lellow. Yelloll. Yellow.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick disentangles himself from David’s arm. He pouts at his husband, but Patrick is unmoved. “I’m going to take a shower and then we’ll figure out how to get everyone home.” His lips graze David’s cheek briefly. He ducks out of the way when David tries to return the favor.</p>
<p>“Your husband is a buzzkill.” Ronnie mutters the words into her glass. </p>
<p>“I can hear you, Ronnie.” Patrick calls back to them from the living room, making all three of them giggle again. </p>
<p>The corners of the room are delightfully fuzzy. Patrick’s been gone a while. Minutes. Or maybe days. David’s lost track somewhere in the third bottle of wine. He sprawls on the living room sofa, one leg fully off of the edge. He should get up. Patrick will be back from taking Marcy and Ronnie home soon. He should sit up at least. He doesn’t move. It’s warm and cozy here, Patrick would want him to be warm and cozy. A key turns in the lock. Patrick’s back. Patrick makes everything better. “Honey, you’re home!” </p>
<p>“Are we doing ‘honey’ now?” The acerbic voice is definitely not Patrick’s. David cracks his eyes open. Stevie looms over him, her hands on her hips.</p>
<p>“You’re not Patrick.” He pouts at her, craning his neck to peer around her in case Patrick is hiding behind her tiny form.</p>
<p>“Oh good, you’re not <em>that</em> drunk.” Stevie shoves his legs out of the way and sits beside him on the couch, picking up the half-full glass of wine from the coffee table and taking a large drink. </p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” It’s Thursday, they never have plans on Thursdays. Unless, maybe Stevie has been here all along. He glares at her suspiciously.</p>
<p>“It’s good to see you, too.” Stevie takes another drink. “Patrick texted me, something about his dad wanting to watch a baseball game? He thought you could use the company.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t he text me? He’s my husband.” He sighs dramatically and Stevie rolls her eyes at him, unmoved.</p>
<p>“Where’s your phone?” He pats his pockets and shakes his head at her when he comes up empty. Rolling her eyes, Stevie goes into the kitchen, coming back with his phone and the open bottle of wine. She tosses the phone at him. “You have seven unread texts from your husband.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” He mumbles happily and cuddles the phone to his chest.</p>
<p>“How are you still so revolting after all this time? Shouldn’t the two of you be growing into the comfortable, but boring, phase of your relationship?” Stevie settles into the far end of the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. </p>
<p>David struggles to push himself into a seated position against the armrest. “You take that back. Patrick’s not boring.” He crosses his arms and glares dramatically, ready to defend Patrick’s honor.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say— Nevermind.” Stevie pours herself a glass of wine. “How’s day two of having your in-laws in town?”</p>
<p>“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” He waves at the empty room. First Alexis, now Stevie. Why does everyone think this is a big deal when it’s not?  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Well, as long as everything’s fine.” Even in his drunken state, disbelief radiates from Stevie’s voice but he refuses to rise to her baiting. </p>
<p>“It is.” He wants more wine, but Stevie has stolen his glass and he’s too comfortable to go to the kitchen for another one. The silence builds, looming over him like an oppressive wall. He crosses his arms and tucks himself more closely into the couch cushions. This is Stevie. He trusts Stevie. “What if they don’t like me anymore once they get to know me better?”</p>
<p>“David, Patrick’s parents don’t like you.” The words wrap around him like barbed wire, stabbing and clinging to his skin.</p>
<p>“What?” He squawks at her, bolting upright. “I thought you were going to be helpful.”</p>
<p>Stevie raises an eyebrow, instructions to stop being an idiot are written across her face. “Patrick’s parents love you the same way they love Patrick. That’s not going to change just because they discover your incorrect opinions about side dishes at barbeques or your irrational love of Mariah Carey.” She takes another drink of her wine. “Honestly, the way that entire family feels about you is probably one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen.” With a roll of her eyes, Stevie pushes herself off the couch and stumbles to the kitchen. “I haven’t had enough wine for this conversation, so I’m going to open another bottle.”</p>
<p>She’s almost to the kitchen when he calls after her. “Okay. But only if you bring me a clean glass.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick drops Ronnie off first. She pats him roughly on the shoulder as she leaves the car. “You’re okay, kid. For a thumb.” With a snicker, she fumbles her keys out of her pocket. She takes two tries to unlock her front door, but Patrick waits until she’s inside before backing out of her driveway.</p>
<p>“Mom…” He stops short. What do you say when you’re driving your mom home after getting drunk with your husband? </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, honey.” His mom’s voice is small and subdued, the giggly drunkenness she’d had earlier has worn off. “We got carried away.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine. You haven’t done anything wrong.” It’s true, he’s just uncomfortable being the adult while David and his mom get to be irresponsible teenagers. Seeing this side of his mom makes his skin stretch uncomfortably across his shoulders, tight and inflexible, like being forced to watch someone’s private home movies. </p>
<p>It’s only five minutes to the motel. He pulls up in front of the darkened building, flashbacks of every time he and David had been in this exact spot flash through his mind, leaving a flush on his skin. He’s been back to the motel to visit Stevie, but it’s been a long time since he’s been inside any of the rooms. He’s grateful that Stevie has given his parents room 5 and not one of the rooms that in his mind, will always belong to the Rose family.</p>
<p>His mom gets out of the car almost before he turns it off, making her way unevenly across the grass to the door of room 5. Taking off his seat belt, Patrick takes a second to send a quick text to David, wanting to make sure he’s okay. He waits for a minute, but there’s no response. Through the open car window, his mom exclaims joyfully as his dad opens the motel room door. Rather than follow her inside right away, he pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number.</p>
<p>“Patrick? Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>He and Rachel talk all the time, but he usually doesn’t call without warning. “David got my mom drunk.”</p>
<p>Rachel snorts, a low, wheezing chuckle reverberates through the phone and she murmurs to someone in the background. “It’s Patrick, I’ll be right back.” The background noise fades away and he guesses she's gone to a different room of the house. “That’s really funny.”</p>
<p>Of course she has to tease him first, it’s a cornerstone of their relationship. “For you.”</p>
<p>“It’s not like Marcy hasn’t gotten tipsy before. Remember the Thanksgiving when your Uncle Clifford brought that awful fruit wine?” His mom had been the only one who had liked the raspberry-radish blend.</p>
<p>“Yeah. She’s drunker than that this time.” He tries to put his finger on what’s bothering him. “I didn’t like being the grown-up.” There’s a world of anxiety in that sentence. His fears about having his parents so close, about having them get older, about having their relationship change. He doesn’t say any of that out loud, but Rachel hums in understanding. </p>
<p>“Have you thought about sending Marcy to her room?” Rachel cackles and he scowls at the phone, forgetting she can’t see him.</p>
<p>“I did just drop her off at the motel, so…”</p>
<p>Rachel laughs before she gets serious again. “Patrick. You just need some time to figure things out. It’s been a long time since the three of you lived in the same place.” </p>
<p>“Yeah. I know you’re right.” The silence builds between them for a minute, warm and friendly. “Thanks, Rach.”</p>
<p>With a sigh, he gets out of the car and follows. His conversation with Rachel has taken off some of his edginess, but he’s still prickly and unsettled. This isn’t how he’d wanted to spend his evening. The day’s pickups had dragged out with orders that weren’t ready or vendors who wanted to chat. And now, instead of curling up on the couch with his husband, he’s driving his drunk mom home. He checks his phone, there’s no answer from David, so he texts him again.</p>
<p>It’s not just the long day. Coming home to find his mom and Ronnie, of all people, getting drunk with David makes him itchy and uneasy. It’s stupid. He wants David and his mom to get along. And David and Ronnie have been friends for years. There’s nothing for him to be jealous about. The knotted feeling lingers, filling up the back of his mind.</p>
<p>“Hi, son.” His dad leans against the open door of the motel room. </p>
<p>“Dad.” Even to his own ears, his voice is sluggish and weary. </p>
<p>“You know…” His dad stops and starts again. “The game’s on. We could watch, like old time’s sake?”</p>
<p>“I should—” He doesn’t want to deal with a drunken David right now. Given his frame of mind, he’d probably just say something he’d regret. “I’d like that, thanks.” He sends David yet another text and follows it up with a text to Stevie, asking her to check on David. She sends back a thumb’s up emoji, followed by several wine glass emojis. Texting Stevie isn’t likely to solve the problem of his wasted husband, but at least David will have company. He texts David again, letting him know Stevie is on her way and follows his dad inside.</p>
<p>In the bathroom, his mom sings to herself before she’s drowned out when the shower comes on. Her voice gets louder and his dad chuckles. The tension in his shoulders loosens a bit and he pulls a chair over to get a better view of the TV. The game is already in the bottom of the 5th inning and the Blue Jays are losing 5-3. </p>
<p>“Just like old times.” He takes a beer from his dad. “The Jays are even losing, just like I remember.” The familiarity of the game, the beer, all of it overwhelms him. How many times had he done this exact thing after a fight with Rachel when he needed a place to clear his head? The weight of it comes out of nowhere and settles on top of him, suffocating and heavy. It’s been a long time since those memories have intruded. He’d thought he’d laid all of that to rest a long time ago. He takes another drink of the beer and pulls out his phone. There’s a text from David this time. A string of heart emojis followed by peach and eggplant emojis. Not everything is the same. He hides his grin and tucks his phone back in his pocket.</p>
<p>They watch the rest of the game together, catching up on the Blue Jays prospects for the season. His mom comes out of the shower during the 6th inning, giving him a sheepish look before she curls up at his dad’s side on the bed. It’s nice, getting to have these moments. He just needs to find the right balance between who he was before and who he is now.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Morning, sunshine.” The voice is too loud, like someone is using a bullhorn next to his ear.</p>
<p>David winces and cracks open his eyes. His beautiful, evil husband smirks at him from his side of the bed. With a groan that’s reminiscent of the noises that the whales on the nature channel make, David pulls the pillow over his face. With luck, it will block out the bright light from the window and the loudness of his husband’s voice and the roiling in his stomach. <em>Pillows can suffocate people, right?</em> That’s a splendid idea. He presses the pillow more tightly against his face, waiting for it to take effect.</p>
<p>“Are you coming out of there?” Patrick snickers at him, adding insult to his pounding headache. </p>
<p>“No.” He whimpers, hoping Patrick will take pity on him. </p>
<p>“Aw.” Amusement practically drips off of Patrick’s words. “Did someone get too drunk with <em> my mom</em> last night?”</p>
<p>“Stevie didn’t help.” The words are muffled, but Patrick just laughs even harder. </p>
<p>“Well, you can share your misery with Stevie over breakfast. She’s still downstairs.” Patrick peels the pillow back from his face and kisses the corner of his mouth. “C’mon, the store won’t open itself.”</p>
<p>He groans again, hoping Patrick will take pity on him. Instead, his husband’s icy hands find the sensitive spot above his hips, making him squirm and yelp. “I hate you.”</p>
<p>“And yet, last night you repeatedly told me the opposite.” Patrick’s fingers are tickling him now, an act so outrageous he can’t believe it’s happening.</p>
<p>“I want a divorce.” Any court in the country would take his side against Patrick’s blatant cruelty.</p>
<p>“No time for that now, we’ve got a business to run.’ Patrick’s hands soothe the spot he’d tickled, making David sigh and try to cuddle closer. Patrick’s hands disappear and he removes the pillow from David’s face, ignoring his whine. “There’s coffee.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you’re not so bad.” Patrick braces himself on one elbow, leaning down to kiss him properly before he slips out of bed. David leers at his husband’s ass as he walks to the bedroom door but Patrick turns back at the last second, a wicked smile on his face.</p>
<p>“You just have to come downstairs to get it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ronnie's Party</h2></a>
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<p>“Look at this.” Patrick snatches the half-eaten tomato off the ground and waves it at David. It’s the third time this week and it’s only Wednesday. </p>
<p>“Why are you shoving compost in my face?” His husband wraps his hands around his cup of coffee as he curls up on the porch swing, his long legs tucked underneath his body. David’s only minutes out of bed, his hair tousled and his face sleepy. He’s gorgeous and Patrick might be tempted to take him back to bed if he weren’t so worked up. </p>
<p>“It wasn’t compost yesterday. Yesterday, it was going to be part of our dinner.” In the five years they’ve lived in this house, this is the first year he’s had trouble with wildlife eating his garden. But now the local wildlife have turned his carefully planned garden into a war zone. Deer eating his peas, birds eating his strawberries and now this, the final straw. “The squirrels ate it!” He tosses the ruined tomato into the compost pile, muttering in disgust. </p>
<p>David perks up at the mention of dinner, before he frowns in confusion. “As much as I love the fruit of your very tasty labor…” David leers enticingly, but even that isn’t enough to lift his foul mood. “...we have plenty of tomatoes at the store.”</p>
<p>“It’s not the same.” To be fair, the tomatoes that the Stanford family grow on their organic farm are delicious, but he wants the ones he’s grown on his own. In their garden. And now they’re ruined. Crossing his arms, he flings himself onto the porch swing beside David, making it wobble alarmingly. “I want my tomatoes.”</p>
<p>“Okay, honey.” David’s hand finds his shoulder, his long fingers attempting to soothe him. </p>
<p>“Stop humoring me.” He clings to his bad mood. David’s fingers pause for a second before resuming their motion. He resists the urge to lean into the touch. David’s fingers are scratching at the back of his head now, tugging at the shorter hair on the downstroke. It’s becoming harder and harder to hold on to his sulkiness, he tilts his head back and David obliges by running his fingers onto the top of his head. </p>
<p>“Are you still grumpy?” David leans sideways to rest his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. </p>
<p>“No.” The pout in his voice ruins any chance that David will take him seriously. David chuckles, his fingers carding through his hair.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” David presses a soft kiss to the spot behind his ear that never fails to conjure up images of soft sheets and David’s hands. A second kiss follows on the point of his jaw and Patrick tilts his head in a silent invitation. </p>
<p>“I might need more persuading.” The huskiness in his voice mutes the teasing. David’s hand tilts his head exactly the right way, bringing their lips together, softly at first and then with a touch of teeth and tongue. He whines when David pulls away, pressing one last kiss to his temple. </p>
<p>“No more pouting, it’s time to get ready for work.” David gets up and walks into the house, pausing the open doorway. “If you hurry, I’ll buy you some tomatoes when we get there.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>Marcy sets down her cup of tea. The two young women standing beside her booth in the cafe can’t be locals. The taller of the two is wearing a t-shirt that says ‘If I die, tell Moira Rose I loved her’ on it. Marcy smirks to herself. If she bought one for David for Christmas, would he ever forgive her? “Yes?”</p>
<p>The blonde one, the younger of the two, spins her phone between her fingers. “Would you mind if we took a selfie in your booth?” She lowers her voice as though she has a secret. “Moira Rose used to sit here.”</p>
<p>For a split second, she considers telling these women she had sat in this very booth with Moira last year and listened to her tell a bizarre story about Catherine Zeta-Jones, Michael Douglas and a beach vacation gone wrong. Instead, she nods towards the empty seat across from her own. “Be my guest.” She holds out her hand to forestall them. “On one condition. You tell me where you got that shirt.”</p>
<p>The women slide into the booth together, smiles wide and bright as they snap selfies against the mustard yellow cloth of the seat. The woman with the shirt pulls out her phone and brings up an Etsy shop for Marcy. She types the address into her phone. Maybe she’ll just buy a shirt for herself and wear it the next time David and Patrick come to dinner.</p>
<p>“All right. I think you’ve bothered the woman enough.” A no-nonsense voice cuts through their laughter. The two young women slip out of the booth, giggling as they compare the photos on their phones. Ronnie gestures to the seat they’ve vacated. “Is this spot free or are you renting it out to Sunrise Bay fans?” Ronnie tilts her head, an amused look on her face.</p>
<p>“It’s all yours.” Marcy picks up her tea and takes a sip as Ronnie sits down. “Has it always been like this?” She nods to the fans who are now taking photos with the papier mâché crane sculptures by the entrance.</p>
<p>“Nah.” Ronnie shakes her head. “It’s just been these past couple of months. They’re almost as much of a nuisance as Moira herself.” Ronnie chuckles. “Not that Moira was all bad. That woman knew how to get stuff done, even if I didn’t always like her methods. But you know what she’s like. She’s family.” </p>
<p>“She certainly is.” Over the years she’s come to appreciate Moira more than she’d thought possible. At the same time, she’s grateful they only see each once or twice a year. A little of Moira goes a long way.</p>
<p>“How’s that skylight working out for you?” Ronnie had finished the roof repairs in record time and they’d been able to move in last week. </p>
<p>“Really well, actually.” Through some twist of fate, the hole in the roof had been right above the kitchen, the skylight that Ronnie had suggested makes the entire space brighter. Now, there’s just the never-ending pile of boxes unpacking to contend with. Before the move, they’d given away or sold or thrown out boxes and boxes of things but somehow there are even more boxes waiting for her than she’d remembered. Clint is still working on the unpacking. He’s probably putting things away right now while she’s here, having coffee with Ronnie. A flash of guilt careens through her. She should be home helping.</p>
<p>“So, listen.” Ronnie sets her cup down on the table. “I have a few people over once a month. We drink a bit of wine, talk business, that kind of thing. Thought you might be open to joining us this evening.”</p>
<p>It’s been three weeks, and she hasn’t talked to Ronnie since the night they’d had too much to drink with David. Everyone in Schitt’s Creek has been friendly, but she misses her family and her friends back home. Other than time with David and Patrick and a dinner with Roland and Jocelyn, she hasn’t had much of a chance to socialize. She’s used to having the constant bustle of her family around her. She wants to jump at the opportunity to meet new people. But something Ronnie said tempers her excitement. “Talk business?”</p>
<p>“Well, officially, it’s the Women’s Business Association.” That Schitt’s Creek considers itself large enough to have a business association makes her smile, but it’s not her kind of thing.</p>
<p>“Okay, but I’m retired, I’m not in business.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Ronnie hums at her across her coffee cup. “But you know about taxes and audits and business accounting, right?”</p>
<p>She had done her share of managing business accounts when she was working, but she’d be happy never to think about any of those things again. “I mean, sure. But that’s not really the same thing.”</p>
<p>“Here’s the thing.” Ronnie pauses for the long moment. “I’ve been on Town Council for 25 years. When I ran the first time, there were no women anywhere. Not on Council, not owning businesses, nowhere. It was me and Maureen Budd and Maureen was a crotchety old flake. She wasn’t much of a joiner, if you know what I mean.” Marcy nods. She assumes Maureen must be a relative of Stevie’s and as much as she likes Stevie, she wouldn’t consider her in that category either. “So I ran for Council. I had all these big ideas of the things I would do if I won.” Ronnie chortles at the memory.</p>
<p>“Did you win? That first time?” She tries to imagine a younger, more idealistic version of Ronnie’s sarcastic, down to earth, self and comes up short. </p>
<p>Ronnie snorts. “Hell, no. I got slaughtered. And after, as a group of my girlfriends and I were drinking away our sorrows, I realized that I couldn’t just run, I need people behind me. So I started the SCWBA. We talk about business, but mostly, we talk about how to get shit done. I think you’re someone who can get shit done.”</p>
<p>Marcy tilts her head, accepting the compliment. “Is there an agenda, or do you just sit around and drink wine?”</p>
<p>Ronnie leans forward. “Between you and me, Bob will probably quit Council. He hasn’t been the same since Gwen left. Again. And that new guy who took over Moira’s old seat never shows up. I want to put good people in both those chairs.”</p>
<p>Marcy giggles nervously. This has taken an unexpected turn from a casual social outing to a political battlefield. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to run for Town Council.”</p>
<p>“Only if you want to.” Ronnie laughs with her. “We need good people behind the scenes too. Tell you what. Come tonight and if it’s not for you, no harm done.”</p>
<p>She would never have considered it, back home. Or an opportunity that ever would have found her. It’s exciting, doing something different, completely out of her comfort zone. And she likes Ronnie, likes her directness and her take no prisoners attitude. “I’ll be there.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David tucks his feet onto the rungs of the stool that Patrick had bought for behind the counter at the store. The stool had magically appeared the day after David had tweaked his back moving one too many boxes of hand cream in the back room. It’s always in the way in the compact space behind the counter, but even though he’d never admit it, being able to sit makes his feet and back feel better. </p>
<p>He pulls out his 3B pencil and adds a stroke down the length of the page of his sketchbook. The line of Patrick’s back comes into focus with every fresh mark on the paper.</p>
<p>Patrick’s at the cafe, meeting Twyla about their baseball project. He’s still wrapping his head around the news of Twyla’s lottery winnings. When he’d called Alexis to ask about it, she’d replied that it wasn’t her secret to tell, like she was a responsible adult and not his sister who trades celebrity gossip like currency. </p>
<p>He swaps out the 3B pencil for a 2H, cross-hatching the shading on the curve of Patrick’s arm. </p>
<p>It’s been years since he drew anything more than the occasional quick sketch in the margins of his journal or the outline of a new display for the store. He’s missed it. He used to draw all the time before he came to Schitt’s Creek, putting pen to paper had been one way to calm the frantic pace of his brain, slowing the pace of the world. And then, when the world dropped out from under him, it hadn’t been enough and gradually, he’d stopped. And then came Patrick, who had always been enough to reshape everything. </p>
<p>He adds a few soft curls at the back of Patrick’s neck, the ones that tease the edge of his collar now that he’s letting his hair grow. </p>
<p>It’s not that he needs to be soothed or that Patrick’s ability to smooth out his jagged edges is any less that it was. But in the moment when Ronnie had praised his fully illustrated closet drawing he discovered that he wants to draw again, wants to explore with paper and pencil and ink. Not to reshape his world, but maybe to document it. </p>
<p>Using the 2B pencil he captures the vein in the back of Patrick’s hand. </p>
<p>The bell over the door rings and he flips the sketchbook closed and tucks it out of sight under the counter. He’s not ready to share this yet. Not with Patrick, not with the overly inquisitive residents of this town. Unfortunately, the person walking through the door is the one person who is both perceptive and persistent enough to extract his secret.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Stevie leans over the counter, trying to peer underneath at the sketchbook. She’s not tall enough and she huffs at him as she pulls back to her side of the counter.</p>
<p>“It’s not— Nothing.” His eyes flick to the set of drawing pencils on the counter. Damn. There’s no way Stevie won’t spot those.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Stevie’s eyes follow his, lingering on the precisely arranged pencils in their metal tin.. “Are you selling art supplies now?”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, we are.” They could sell art supplies. Mr Choi provides them with a beautiful line of hand-turned pen and pencils. A line of drawing pencils would be the perfect addition to their inventory.</p>
<p>Stevie’s eyes narrow at the lie. She’ll never let this go. “Great, I’ve been meaning to take up a hobby. I’ll just buy these.” She points to the set open on the counter. </p>
<p>“You can’t buy those.” He racks his brain for an excuse. “They’re defective.” The pencils are perfectly aligned in their case, the tips are worn, but otherwise they’re in pristine condition. </p>
<p>“Oh.” The silence builds as they stare at each other, neither of them willing to back down.. “I’ll just take a fresh set, then.”</p>
<p>“Well, unfortunately for you, we’re sold out.” He puts his hands on his hips, resenting that she’s successfully backed him into a corner. </p>
<p>“David.” Her voice is fond and exasperated.</p>
<p>“Fine.” One day, he’ll say no to her. But today is not that day. “But you can’t tell anyone. Not even Patrick.” He pulls out the sketchbook and hands it to her.</p>
<p>“Not even Patrick?” She echoes his words as she flips to the first page. “Keeping secrets isn’t good for a relationship. Or so I’ve been told.” She turns a few more pages. “Plus, these are all drawings of Patrick. Isn’t that stalker behavior to be drawing someone without them knowing?”</p>
<p>“I just—” He’s not sure how to explain. He takes the sketchbook back from her, tucking it carefully under the counter. “It’s not a secret, it’s just private. I want it just for myself. Just for a little while, until I’m used to it again. And he’ll be so enthusiastic and supportive. I will tell him. Just not yet.” The sarcasm fades from her face, even though she’s undoubtedly cataloging this moment to hold over him later. “Did you come in here for a reason?”</p>
<p>“I can’t stop by to see my best friend?” Now Stevie is the one who is hiding something. He raises an eyebrow and she squirms, shifting from one foot to the other.</p>
<p>“You literally had dinner at our house last night.” She typically eats at their house a couple of nights a week, sometimes with the three of them and sometimes, on the nights when Patrick has baseball or whatever, just the two of them. </p>
<p>It takes a minute, but finally she caves. “Fine. I need a gift. More than one, actually. Several. I need several gifts.”</p>
<p>“Why are you being weird?” Stevie doesn’t buy a lot of gifts, but it isn’t like she’s never shopped at the store before. </p>
<p>“I need to buy some gifts for my team, okay? To like recognize them or something, because they’re all really great and it’s weird and I know you’ll just laugh at me.” He’s still not used to the idea that Stevie has employees who report to her. That there’s a group of people out there who consider his sarcastic friend to be their boss.</p>
<p>“Are you like their mentor?” He grins as she shakes her head sharply, stepping away from him. “You are! Do they look up to you? Do you tell them what to do?”</p>
<p>“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Stevie rolls her shoulders beneath her plaid shirt. When she’s here in Schitt’s Creek she insists on wearing the same overly casual clothes that she always has and not the perfectly curated business wardrobe that he had selected for her. Why she refuses to wear nice clothes now that she can afford them is something he’ll never understand.</p>
<p>“Okay, tell me about them.” Stevie describes each of her employees. As she talks, he curates a selection of products for each person for her to choose from.  </p>
<p>He wraps up Stevie’s purchases, tucking each item into a branded Rose Apothecary box. Stevie takes the bag, hesitating at the counter. “For what it’s worth, about the other thing? I think you should tell Patrick that you’re not ready to show him. I think he’d get that.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. I’ll think about it.” Stevie insists that she’s the reason that he and Patrick are together at all, a point he denies vehemently. She’s been annoyingly right about most of the milestones of his relationship and she’s probably right about this. He’ll think about it.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint breaks down the cardboard box, setting it on the pile with the others. He’ll have to make another trip to the recycling depot soon, his fourth trip since they moved in last week. It’s what he has to look forward to, which is not what he’d expected when they’d retired and moved here. </p>
<p>He’s used to being busy is all. And now, he’s not. </p>
<p>He opens the next box. Marcy has escaped for a walk to the cafe, leaving him to tackle the next stack of boxes on his own. He pulls an armful of books out of the box and begins placing them on the shelves in the living room. With all the unpacking, it’s not that he has nothing to do. He’s just not sure what he’s going to do after. After all the boxes are empty and he’s mowed the lawn one too many times, what will he do then?</p>
<p>There’s something. He needs to fix the underground sprinkler system. Nothing happened when he’d turned it on two days ago. His box is empty. He collapses it and puts it on the pile. There were some replacement parts in the basement. He’ll just get some tools and fix the sprinkler and then he’ll water the lawn.  </p>
<p>The parts are right where he remembers, but his toolbox only holds some of his tools. He carries it up from the basement. He’ll have to make do. Outside, he pulls away the grass in front of the first sprinkler head. Dirt and grass is caked in the holes. Rummaging in the toolbox, he searches for the right screwdriver to undo the top of the sprinkler head, but it’s not with his other tools. Frustrated, he jiggles it back and forth to no avail. </p>
<p>“Hey pal, do you need a hand with that?” Before he can refuse, Roland is striding across the lawn towards him, his plaid shirt unbuttoned over his grey t-shirt.</p>
<p>Roland bends closer to the sprinkler. “A screwdriver, huh? There’s one in my truck.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine—” Roland’s back before he finishes the sentence, an oversized pair of pliers in his hands. </p>
<p>“No luck on the screwdriver, but let me try this instead.” Clint eyes the pliers skeptically, not sure if he trusts the tool or the person holding them. </p>
<p>“No—” Roland attaches the pliers and twists sharply. With a loud crack part of the sprinkler comes apart in his hand, a geyser of water shooting up and catching Clint directly in the face.  </p>
<p>“Well, now, I could have told you that was the wrong place to stand.” Roland hands the broken part to him. “I don’t think the pliers will work.”</p>
<p>“Roland—” He wipes off his face with his sleeve, a trickle of water runs down his back, making him squirm. He grinds his teeth. “Roland, you need to stop breaking my house.”</p>
<p>“Next time, I’d recommend buying a house with more durability.” He flinches as Roland claps him on the shoulder. The water spurts in a graceful arc, covering the sidewalk as Roland walks across the driveway and disappears into his own house, leaving Clint behind. Maybe they should move. It’s only been three weeks, but everything is still packed in boxes. It has to be better than this. Maybe his first project should be to extend the fence into the front yard. Or to build a wall. With a moat. And archers. And burning pitch. With a sigh, he heads inside to shut off the water and change his clothes. He’s going to have to call Ronnie. Again.</p>
<p>Before, he never had enough time at home. Between work and family get-togethers and chores and watching the game, it had felt like his days were packed from end to end. But now, he’s at loose ends. He waters Marcy’s plants and wanders into the kitchen and empties the dishwasher. It takes ten minutes and then he’s left, the same as he was, lost. </p>
<p>The pile of boxes waits for him in the living room, but he can’t face any more unpacking right now. Maybe he’ll walk into town and visit David and Patrick at the store. They’d moved here to be closer to Patrick and they’ve barely seen him. He’ll pop into the store and talk to Patrick about the game. Vladdy’s home run in the bottom of the ninth had been a thing of beauty, Patrick wouldn’t miss it. </p>
<p>The walk downtown takes maybe five minutes, if he includes the time it takes to put on his shoes. The bell over the door of the Apothecary jingles when he pushes it open; David is at the back of the store with a customer, talking about ‘tea tree oil’ and ‘nine step regimens’.</p>
<p>There’s no sign of Patrick, his play-by-play of the game will have to wait. He takes his time browsing through the kitchenware at the front of the store. Maybe Marcy would like a set of ceramic mixing bowls for her birthday next month. The bright yellow shade matches the fresh paint color in their kitchen. A couple of wooden spoons are lying carelessly on the counter, he gathers them up and puts them back in the container with the others, pleased to have everything properly aligned. At the counter, David makes idle chitchat as he rings up the customer and Clint drifts to the back of the store. Several of the bottles are strewn about so he straightens those up as well. </p>
<p>“Mr Bre— Clint. Hi.” Now that he’s finished with the customer, David comes around the counter towards him. “Patrick’s not here. He’s meeting Twyla at the cafe. Something about baseball.” David waves a hand in the air, the wide gold bands catch the light.</p>
<p>Has Patrick resorted to talking baseball with the nice young woman at the cafe? “That’s all right, gives me a chance to look around. If that’s okay with you?” He’d been so skeptical when Patrick had leapt into business with David without a safety net all those years ago. The evidence of how wrong he’d been is all around him. He picks up a bag of tea and puts it down again. “Did you know that more than thirty people are injured by tea cozies every year?”</p>
<p>“Nooo.” David shifts behind the counter, spinning the rings on his right hand. They rarely spend any time together, one on one. He likes David a lot, has liked him since the moment they’d first met, but Patrick is the main thing they have in common. </p>
<p>“Did you watch the game last night?” The chances are infinitesimally low. David would only watch baseball if Patrick insisted or if he couldn’t find something better to do. </p>
<p>David shakes his head. “No.” The silence is heavy between them, a living thing. </p>
<p>“So, um, how’s your family?” Clint hopes it’s a safe question, but with the Roses, it’s never a sure bet. Their presence still looms over this tiny town, imprints of their time here are visible around every corner.</p>
<p>A wide smile breaks across David’s face. “Good. My sister loves New York. And my mom just signed on for three more seasons of Sunrise Bay.” </p>
<p>“It must be strange for you, having so many fans of the show in town.” Fans of the show are everywhere, in the cafe, at the motel, outside David and Patrick’s store.</p>
<p>David frowns at him, confusion creasing his features. “I don’t know what you mean.” </p>
<p>“It’s just— there were some fans when we were at the motel…” He pauses, David’s confusion remains. “Never mind, it’s probably nothing. How’s your dad?”</p>
<p>“Oh, he’s building his motel empire and stealing my best friend, so the same as usual.” David shrugs dismissively. Does Johnny feel the same challenge of getting to know David as he does? He picks up a jar of hand cream and puts it down again. </p>
<p>“Sure…” All too quickly, he’s run out of things to say. “You said Patrick was at the cafe?”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. You can probably still catch him.” David leans forward slightly as though he wants to shoo him from the store.  </p>
<p>He likes David; he loves the joy he’s brought to Patrick’s life, but he has no idea how to talk to him. There must be some way to get to know his son-in-law better, to find something they have in common. Another day.  He waves goodbye to David and hurries across the street, eager to talk to Patrick about the game.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“...and now the squirrels are eating all my tomatoes.” Twyla nods sympathetically as Patrick recounts his garden woes, glad for a supportive ear. </p>
<p>“Hey Patrick.” Ronnie comes behind him. “Does this mean you’re dropping out of the exhibition already?” Everyone in town enters their vegetables and jams and flowers into the annual agricultural exhibition. He’d entered his tomatoes the past three years, only to have Ronnie beat him all three times. </p>
<p>“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He’ll never give her the satisfaction. If he has to enter unripe, half-eaten tomatoes in the exhibition he’ll do it before he lets Ronnie win by default. He glares as Ronnie snickers mockingly. Determination rises inside him. He’ll be damned if the squirrels hand Ronnie yet another victory.</p>
<p>“Well, I hope you solve your squirrel problem so I can beat you fair and square.” With another derisive laugh, she walks away, leaving him staring after her in frustration. He wants to beat her so badly. More than he wants to win at baseball, more than he wants the Leafs to win the Cup. He wants to win. Just once. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Twyla refills the hot water in his teacup and passes it back to him. “My mom’s boyfriend’s brother used to have problems with squirrels in his garden all the time.”</p>
<p>He’s almost afraid to ask. “What did he do?”</p>
<p>“Oh, he used explosives.” Twyla pauses thoughtfully. “But the tomatoes never recovered.”</p>
<p>“Yeah...I can see that.” He flips open his portfolio and pulls out the spreadsheet he’d made for the youth baseball league. “So, here’s what I’m thinking…” He takes Twyla through his plans for launching the league. They’re talking through ideas for coaches, when someone calls his name.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” His dad comes up to the counter.</p>
<p>“Hi, dad.” He gestures to the chair next to his. It’s still a surprise to run into his parents like this, part of him has yet to accept that they live in Schitt’s Creek. As his dad takes a seat, Twyla takes the interruption as an opportunity to check on her tables. </p>
<p>“I stopped in at the store and David said you might be here.” His dad claps his hands on his knees. “I couldn’t deal with any more boxes.” Patrick grimaces sympathetically. He should probably offer to help. Before he summons the words, his dad gestures to his portfolio. “What’s all this?” </p>
<p>“Oh, Twyla and I are working on a project together.” Twyla returns with a pile of empty plates that she put onto the pass-through to the kitchen before picking up a couple of orders that are waiting. He hesitates, reluctant to give too many details. “It’s a baseball league. For teenagers.”</p>
<p>“That’s a great idea. Remember when I used to coach your Little League games?” A familiar note of nostalgia fills his dad’s voice.</p>
<p>“Of course.” His dad is the reason he still plays baseball. He’d made it fun, made it about playing the game instead of just about winning. </p>
<p>“Do you remember the time we made it to the championship?” His dad settles in for an extensive retelling of his childhood baseball adventures. His eyes slide past his dad’s, searching for Twyla, but she’s occupied with a table on the far side of the room. “You kids were so excited and then the other team beat us 14-2.”</p>
<p>“Dad…” Petulance creeps into his voice, like he’s sixteen again.  </p>
<p>Hi dad stops in the middle of the story about his first home run. “You know, if you want some help, I’m happy to help.” </p>
<p>“Uh…” It’s bound to be an adjustment, having his parents move to Schitt’s Creek. But the pressure is constant, as though he’d been given a glimpse of freedom only to have it snatched away. The grooves of his life here are well-worn, familiar. He’s built them himself. He balks at his dad’s intrusion. </p>
<p>“That would be great, Mr Brewer.” Twyla overrides his thoughts, her smile lights up her face. “We can use all the help we can get.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it would be great.” Patrick echoes Twyla’s words and tries to mean them. “Let me show you what we’ve got so far.” He goes back to the beginning, walking his dad through their idea, pausing now and then as his dad points out details and ideas that they missed. Thirty minutes later, his dad has helped untangle a few of the details and they’ve put together a plan for the next steps. Maybe working with his dad on this project will be okay. They’ll get to spend some time together talking about baseball, what could be better than that? He checks the time, he’s been gone for over an hour, David will be worried something has happened to him. Folding up his printouts he orders an extra muffin and heads back to the store.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David adds some notes to his drawing of the new display for the store. He squints, trying to bring the blurry words into focus. “Do you think my handwriting has gotten smaller?” </p>
<p>“What?” Patrick puts the last bottle of bath salts on the shelf and frowns at him from across the store. “Why would your handwriting be smaller?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with this piece of paper.” David holds his journal at arm’s length, squinting to make the words come into focus. At that distance, the words are clear but too small to read. When he brings them closer, they go fuzzy. He huffs in frustration, moving the paper back and forth. Closer, farther. Clear, fuzzy.</p>
<p>“David.” Patrick’s voice is soft and bemused. He puts down the empty box on the front counter and comes to stand beside him. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the paper. Or your handwriting.”</p>
<p>“Well, something must be wrong. Why else would this be so blurry?”</p>
<p>“David.” Patrick repeats his name again and the sound of it runs down his spine, steadying him against his rising agitation. “I think you might need reading glasses.”</p>
<p>“No. Oh no.” He tries to escape from behind the counter to pace around the store but Patrick stops him, his hands finding David’s shoulders. David’s voice drops to a whisper. “Old people wear reading glasses.”</p>
<p>This can’t be happening. He forestalls the passage of time through careful maintenance and pampering, managing his perfectly unblemished skin with a precise daily regimen. Patrick doesn’t know about the grey hairs at his temples he’s been covering up for the past three years. Or maybe he does know. Patrick is very good at seeing, but not mentioning, things that upset David. But now, for his body to betray him like this. It’s unacceptable. </p>
<p>“Lots of people wear glasses, David.” Patrick’s hands are massaging the muscles at the base of his neck, staying just ahead of the tension that’s gathering there. “Meryl Streep. Cate Blanchett. Even Oprah.”</p>
<p>“You know I worship the ground all of them walk on.” He pauses, searching for the words that will make Patrick understand how critical this is. “But Patrick, all of them are older than I am.” All his life, he’s had his looks to fall back on. And his money. But even when people had laughed at him and used him and ignored him, he’d consoled himself with his clear skin and his perfect bone structure. His worry surges out of the box he’s contained it in. “What if you don’t like me in glasses?”</p>
<p>“What if I don’t like you? What are you, twelve?” Amusement flares in Patrick’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Okay. What if you don’t think I’m sexy?” His hands find their safe spot on the top of Patrick’s shoulders. </p>
<p>“David. You’re wearing a sweater that looks like it mated with a canvas drop cloth. I think you’ll be just as sexy in glasses.”</p>
<p>“Excuse you. This is Rick Owens.” He gestures his sweater with the draped panel on the front. </p>
<p>“I know.” Patrick crowds him backwards until he’s trapped in the corner of the counter. He presses against him, and David gasps at how hard he is. “You look sexy in anything. Glasses won’t make any difference.” Patrick kisses him, slow and deep, one hand holding the back of David’s head in place as he takes what he wants. He brings his lips up to whisper in David’s ear. “Make an appointment with the eye doctor, David.”</p>
<p>In the back room, he brings up the number of his eye doctor on his phone. Before he completes the call, he closes the app and FaceTimes his sister instead. </p>
<p>“David! You’re calling at the perfect time.” His sister exclaims his name happily and a wash of warmth flows through him. Even after five years, it’s still new, this feeling of happiness that he has at hearing her voice. “Which outfit do you like better?” </p>
<p>Alexis flips the camera around and to show two dresses hanging on the back of her closet door, one in gold and one in black. “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“There’s a red carpet event for Emma Mackey’s opening of her show’s fan experience pop-up.” Alexis is rapidly becoming the go-to publicist for small-budget television shows that want creative ways to make their mark. He’s unbelievably proud of her.</p>
<p>He blinks and holds the phone at arm’s length, trying to focus on the two dresses. “The black one. You don’t want to upstage Emma.” </p>
<p>Alexis peers more closely at the screen. “What’s wrong, David? Did you and Patrick get into a fight?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s much worse than that.” He and Patrick have fought before, but his blurry eyesight and the downward plunge into his advancing years is permanent and irreversible. </p>
<p>“Oh my god, David. Is Patrick dying?” </p>
<p>“What? No. What’s wrong with you?” Why had he thought Alexis would be helpful? He should have talked to Stevie instead. Although Stevie would just make fun of him, so no help there.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t know, David. You’re the one who’s being all mysterious about what’s bothering you.” Like it’s his fault she’s monopolized their conversation.</p>
<p>“I’m not being mysterious, you won’t let me get a word in edgewise.” Ugh. Talking to Alexis was a surefire way to make him miss her less. His warm feelings fade into an exasperated frustration.</p>
<p>“Then spit it out.” Frustration bounces between them like a ping pong ball.</p>
<p>David takes a deep breath and reveals his devastating news. “Patrick thinks I might need glasses.”</p>
<p>“You’re middle-aged now, David. Of course you need glasses.” Not for the first time, he wishes his sister hadn’t moved to New York. If she still lived here, he could strangle her in person.</p>
<p>“I’m 39. And that’s not the point.” </p>
<p>“You know, David, glasses are very in right now. I think this could be a super cute look for you.” Alexis nods decisively. Even through his irritation, her words take the edge off his anxiety. </p>
<p>“Maybe I should just get eye surgery.”</p>
<p>“And let some stranger cut up your eyes with a laser? No, David.” Alexis screws up her face in horror. “Besides, I bet your button-faced husband will like you in glasses.” He doesn’t want to admit that she’s right, so he stays silent. “Oh my god, he said that already, didn’t he? Then why are you asking me, David?”</p>
<p>“Because Patrick doesn’t get this kind of thing. Not like you do.” Patrick’s fashion sense is on par with Ed Sheeran’s and he isn’t to be trusted with these types of decisions. Besides, he once told David that he looked hot on one unfortunate summer day when a laundry incident forced him to wear a pair of Patrick’s cargo shorts. His obvious bias and lack of taste make his husband’s opinion entirely unreliable.</p>
<p>Her face softens, her expression changing on the tiny screen. “David. That’s so sweet.” She nods decisively. “You should get the glasses. But a nice thick frame, nothing wishy-washy. Not with your eyebrows.”</p>
<p>“Okay. That’s enough advice now, thanks.” She’ll be commenting on his clothes and skincare regime if he doesn’t stop her and he doesn’t need to bathe in any further self-doubt about his appearance.</p>
<p>Amazingly, his protest works. “You won’t regret it, David.” </p>
<p>With one last eye roll, he ends the call, Patrick leans in the doorway, his arms crossed. “Did Alexis give her seal of approval?”</p>
<p>“If you’re asking if she is joining you in a betrayal of my youth, then the answer is yes.” His lips double cross him, the corners twitching upwards in a smile.</p>
<p>Naturally, Patrick just laughs at him, coming closer to press a kiss to David’s forehead. “Quit stalling and call the eye doctor, David.”</p>
<p>“Fine. But when I get these glasses, you’re going to spend a very long time telling me how sexy I look.”</p>
<p>A spark of hunger appears in Patrick’s eyes. “Trust me, that won’t be a problem.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>What should she bring to a business association meeting that’s also a political support group? There’s a bottle of wine on the counter. She tucks it into her bag. If it’s not welcome tonight, Ronnie can have it for later. She paces in the kitchen for a minute. She’s keyed up, weirdly nervous, like when she’d wanted the cool kids to like her on the first day of school. </p>
<p>This is harder, in its own way. She’s older now, so that’s easier, but she misses her gaggle of sisters. 64 is a bit old to be out on her own for the first time, and the thought makes her giggle. “I hope they like me.” The echo of her ten-year-old self whispers softly in her ear as she takes one last look in the mirror.</p>
<p>She knocks on Ronnie’s door precisely at seven o’clock, a sprinkle of laughter floats out behind Ronnie when she opens it. “Glad you could make it.” She offers the wine and is relieved when Ronnie nods her thanks and leads her into the living room. “Make yourself at home. There’s wine and appetizers over there. We’ll get started in a few minutes.”</p>
<p>Unfamiliar faces fill the room, making the butterflies flap in her stomach. Groups of women stand in twos and threes, talking and laughing. Some faces are vaguely familiar, the way she might recognize someone she’d passed on the street the day before. Maybe this is a mistake. Everyone here knows each other. For a moment, her feet are rooted to the floor and then Stevie gives her a tiny wave from across the room.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised to see you here.” Stevie passes her a glass of wine and she gulps it gratefully. Stevie is impressive in her own way but she’s never struck Marcy as someone who was interested in joining things.</p>
<p>“No one says no to Ronnie.” Stevie shrugs and takes a drink of her wine. “Ronnie must really like you, to invite you so quickly. Especially given how she feels about Patrick.”</p>
<p>Maybe Stevie knows why Ronnie dislikes her son. “You’ll have to tell me—“ She breaks off as Ronnie calls everyone’s attention to the front of the room. She’d attended a few meetings with the West Canthor Chamber of Commerce. This is nothing like that. Instead of the formalities of agendas and minutes, Ronnie opens with a list that’s part introduction and part celebration, highlighting some of the women in attendance. </p>
<p>“Okay, we’ve got a new person here tonight. Marcy, do you want to tell everyone why you’re here?” Marcy starts as Ronnie says her name, raising her hand shyly as people turn to look. Her mind goes blank as Ronnie raises an eyebrow at her.</p>
<p>“Um, I don’t know why I’m here. I’m new to town and Ronnie told me I had to come.” There’s a ripple of laughter and a few people respond with ‘me too’ and ‘welcome to the club.’ Maybe this won’t be so bad. Hopefully Ronnie won’t put her on the spot again. Settling back in her chair, she waits for Ronnie to continue. </p>
<p>“Okay, Okay. You’re going to fit right in.” Ronnie continues with the introductions. Marcy tries to memorize which names go with which faces, but most of them get lost in the sea of people.</p>
<p>“First order of business. Jocelyn says that someone is posting nude selfies of female students online. She thinks some other girls are behind it. Anyone want to tackle this one?” There’s no sign of Jocelyn’s bubblegum pink sweatshirts. She leans close to Stevie.</p>
<p>“Where’s Jocelyn?” She’d expected the bubbly woman to be front and center at a meeting like this.</p>
<p>Stevie whispers back. “Ronnie doesn’t invite her because she’ll just tell Roland.” Secretly, she’s glad Ronnie hasn’t invited Jocelyn. Guilt follows the thought. Jocelyn has been nothing but pleasant and welcoming since they’ve arrived. But she rubs Marcy the wrong way.</p>
<p>“Is this a secret then?” She’s not prepared to keep this a secret from Clint, no matter how badly she wants to make new friends.</p>
<p>“Only if you’re married to Roland.” Stevie makes it seem self-explanatory. And maybe it is.</p>
<p>Marcy pulls her attention back to Ronnie at the front of the room. “Next up. Miranda from the new Yarn Barn is having trouble building a customer base, is anyone able to help her attract more customers?”</p>
<p>The rest of the meeting continues in the same fashion. Ronnie outlines a problem that a local woman is having and someone else volunteers to help. Even Stevie raises her hand at one point, offering a summer job to a student who lost a scholarship. It’s ruthlessly efficient and a bit subversive and Marcy wishes she’d had something similar the times she’d needed it. </p>
<p>At the end of the night, she follows Stevie out the door, only to have Ronnie put out a hand to stop her before she leaves. “So?” Ronnie crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at her. </p>
<p>Rather than giving into the possibilities that are racing through her mind, she retreats to the safety of politeness. “Thank you for inviting me.” </p>
<p>Ronnie raises an eyebrow, forcing her hand. “And?”</p>
<p>She refuses to entertain the idea of not coming again.. “And, I— I want to come back next month.” </p>
<p>Ronnie nods, short and satisfied. “I thought so. But next time, I’ll be looking for you to step up.”</p>
<p>She sizes Ronnie up for a moment. “It’s a deal.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“I hear you’re having a problem with squirrels.” Roland leans against the counter at the store. Patrick eyes him apprehensively. David disappeared into the back room as soon as he saw Roland coming, leaving Patrick on his own.</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Experience has taught him that offering additional information will only prolong a conversation that he doesn’t want to have.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what.” Roland sets the jar of foot cream he’s been holding down on the counter. “If you give me this foot cream, I’ll send Roland Jr over to shoot them for you with his BB gun. He could use the practice. He hasn’t quite got the whole ‘aiming’ thing down just yet, if you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s not necessary.” He shudders at the thought of having a seven-year-old boy with poor aim trying to shoot squirrels in his garden. “Just the foot cream for you, then?” The faster he short-circuits this conversation, the greater the odds that Roland will forget to tell him what he plans to do with the foot cream. The last time he’d been in, Roland had shared a horrifying story about a foot massage that had gone in a direction that he does not want to revisit. </p>
<p>“I think that offer is worth at least a 25% discount on the foot cream.” Roland leans on the counter in a manner that Patrick assumes is intended to be persuasive. He fights the urge to take a step back.</p>
<p>“Roland. We’ve been over this. You know we don’t offer discounts. Do you want the foot cream or not?” With a put upon sigh, Roland hands over his credit card and Patrick rings up the purchase.</p>
<p>As soon as the door closes behind Roland, David pokes his head out from behind the curtain to the back room. “I don’t know why you didn’t take Roland up on his offer. Having a murderous seven-year-old boy running around our backyard is exactly the soothing feel I’m looking for when we’re at home.”</p>
<p>“I can always give Roland a call if you think I should change my mind.” David drapes his arms over his shoulders and Patrick leans back into him. “No gun-toting boys. I just need to find another solution.”</p>
<p>“Okay, honey.” David kisses him on the cheek, a soft brush of his lips that lingers even after he pulls away. “Did you see that the Stanfords brought in more tomatoes yesterday? They look delicious. So juicy and undamaged. I thought we might have some for dinner tonight.” David’s voice is almost a purr as he teases him. Patrick pulls out of his husband’s arms and scowls at him. “What? You said you were looking for solutions.” </p>
<p>“David. We will eat tomatoes out of our garden that I’ve grown myself. I’m gonna get those squirrels.” Single-minded determination rises inside him, the same as when he’d told David he would find grants for his newborn business. He will grow a perfect tomato or die trying.</p>
<p>In between customers, he spends the rest of the day on the internet, compiling a spreadsheet of the recommended ways to defeat squirrels. He’s riled up, the edges of his competitive side ratcheting up against his need to build a perfect plan. David peers over his shoulder every fifteen minutes. “Is it really a good idea to annoy the local wildlife? What if they retaliate, Patrick? What then?” Despite David’s interference, by the end of the day he has a comprehensive list broken into three main categories: repellents, scare tactics, and plant protection. </p>
<p>He starts with the easiest ideas and works his way down the list, even though easy doesn’t mean successful. Still, if something as simple as geraniums keeps the squirrels out of his garden, it would be foolish not to try. He sets half a dozen potted plants from the store’s inventory by the back door to take home.</p>
<p>“I hope you’re planning to pay for those!” David’s voice calls out from the other room. “You know it messes up our inventory if you just take things.”</p>
<p>“Very funny.” When the bell over the door announces a customer, he sneaks back to his desk to enter the geraniums into his side of their tracking spreadsheet for in-store purchases. Determination courses through him. Fifteen minutes until closing. Fifteen minutes until he puts his plan in motion and shows those squirrels who’s boss. </p>
<p>At home, David lingers as he unloads the geraniums in the driveway, an ‘I can’t believe this is the man I married’ look on his face. David squeezes his shoulder and heads inside as soon as Patrick locks the car and picks up the first pot. He kisses Patrick on his way into the house. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”</p>
<p>The faint scent of David’s cologne nearly tempts him into putting down the geranium and following David into the house. “I thought you were opposed to this endeavor?” </p>
<p>“Seems like you’re just making the garden prettier. How could I be opposed to that?” David pauses when he gets to the door. “Do squirrels like pretty flowers?”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.” Patrick carries the pot into the back garden, setting it at one end of the raised bed that contains his tomatoes. David had protested when he’d proposed tearing up part of the back lawn to put in a vegetable garden, but the straight edges of the wooden boxes and the neat gravel paths had won him over. Six trips later, he steps back to admire his handiwork. The flowers would look nicer growing among the tomatoes, rather than perched unevenly in pots on top. He’ll make a note in his garden spreadsheet for next year. </p>
<p>It’s warm in the garden, the late afternoon sun is merciless. He strips off his button-down shirt, the thin cotton of his white undershirt is a relief in the heat. Wanting to avoid David’s extensive lecture about proper clothing care, he tosses the shirt carefully onto the porch swing. Crossing the garden, he pulls his gardening gloves and trowel out of the cupboard beneath the potting bench that David had given him for his birthday a couple of years ago.</p>
<p>He moves around each bed, pulling weeds and picking any vegetables that are ready to be harvested. Squirrels aside, it’s peaceful, having his hands in the dirt, watching things grow. He’s lost in the rhythm of it when the back door opens and David comes onto the deck, a glass of wine in one hand and a beer in the other. He settles back on the porch swing, his eyes meet Patrick’s and even across the garden the intensity makes him flush. </p>
<p>How is it still like this? With a single look, David turns him into a sixteen-year-old, on the verge of coming apart untouched. Or on the verge of taking David apart, as the mood strikes.</p>
<p>Without looking, he pushes the trowel into the edge of the nearest garden bed. Methodically, he sets the cucumbers and radishes for tonight’s salad in a pile beside them. David’s eyes stay fixed on his as his husband takes a long swallow of his wine. David licks his lips, his tongue chasing the taste and Patrick feels it echo onto his own mouth. The corners of his mouth quirk up in a challenge and he tilts his head back as David smiles in response. </p>
<p>The odds of convincing David to leave the comfort of the porch to make out in the garden are exceedingly low. But he doesn’t want to make it too easy. He leans with exaggerated casualness against the edge of one of the raised beds. David doesn’t so much as flinch. He takes a couple of steps forward, bending to pull some weeds at his feet. David’s breath hisses through his teeth and there’s a soft clunk as he sets his empty glass on the deck. Patrick narrows his eyes and moves with deliberate slowness to the base of the stairs. David’s eyes leave his just long enough to run down and back up his body before finding his again, drawing him in and up the stairs. </p>
<p>He’s still wearing the gardening gloves. With a single finger, he strokes a line down David’s jaw, leaving a soft smudge of dirt behind. He’s marked David in other, more lasting ways, but the contrast with David’s impeccable skin and clothing makes his breath catch. He tilts David’s head up and David’s eyes flick closed, only that tiny response betraying his reaction. </p>
<p>He draws David up, the pressure of the finger beneath his chin pulling David out of the swing towards him. Cupping the back of David’s neck, brings David’s mouth to his. David opens instantly, his desire matching Patrick’s. “God, you look so good.” David gasps out the words as Patrick drags his teeth down his neck. </p>
<p>“Yeah? You like that? You like it when I get you dirty?” His gloved hand cups David’s cheek. David moans and leans into it, rubbing his face against the rough leather of the gloves, leaving a second smear of dirt behind. David’s hands scrabble at his waist, pulling his hips— </p>
<p>“Hello?” Patrick drops his head against David’s shoulder as his mom’s voice rings out from the driveway. David snickers, his breath is hot against Patrick’s ear before he sits back on the porch swing, pulling his skirted pants into a semblance of order.</p>
<p>“You’ve got dirt on your face.” Patrick hisses at his husband as his mom comes around the corner of the house. David scowls at him and wipes at his cheek. Patrick leans against the veranda post, hoping his casual stance disguises his state of arousal. “Hi Mom. What are you doing here?” He clears his throat, trying to take the impatient squeak out of his voice. Behind him David holds back a strangled chuckle.</p>
<p>“I hope this isn’t a bad time?” His mom stops at the bottom of the steps and looks up at them. </p>
<p>He sighs to himself and plasters on a smile. “Of course not, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“I was just on the way back from Elmdale and I wanted to see if you wanted to come for dinner tomorrow night. Your dad finally found the tongs and he’s eager to try out the new barbeque.” Summer barbeques had been a weekly event before he’d moved to Schitt’s Creek. But all he wants is to make out with David on their back porch whenever he wants. Is that too much to ask?</p>
<p>“Um…” The constant presence of his parents bears down on him, heaving and suffocating.</p>
<p>“Yes, we’d love to come.” David chimes in from behind him. “Will there be sides?”</p>
<p>Patrick sighs to himself and accepts his fate. “We’d love to come.” </p>
<p>“Okay, we’ll see you at seven.” His mom starts to walk away before turning back. “I’ll let you both get back to whatever you were doing.” She smirks and Patrick’s face flushes. As she leaves a movement in the garden catches his gaze.</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it was that bad, it’s not like she saw anything.” David rubs his shoulder soothingly.</p>
<p>“It’s not that.” He points to the garden. “There’s that squirrel, just sitting there, in the middle of my new geraniums.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The Elmdale Chronicle is not a robust newspaper by any stretch of the imagination. Clint reads it cover to cover every morning, including all the ads, even the personals. Not that the personals are a section of the paper that he typically reads, but an ongoing, escalating series of ads from someone named Gwen caught his eye a few days ago and he’s been reading them every morning like a soap opera. So far, he’s been able to determine that 1) Gwen is not interested in getting back together with someone named Bob and 2) Gwen has lots of other options. </p>
<p>After he reads Gwen’s latest ad, asking if Pablo wants to go for a whiskey, the ad immediately below catches his eye.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Introductory Wood-working </strong>
  <br/>
  <em>Hand and power tools</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Soft and hard woods </em>
  <br/>
  <em>Contact Jake’s Wood Shop at jake@jakeswood.com</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe a hobby is exactly what he needs. Eventually all the boxes will be unpacked and then what? Does he sit around and wait for Roland to do more damage to their house? He needs something to do. He’d done woodworking once, back in high school, and had made a crooked box that his mom had kept her playing cards in for years. Maybe Marcy needs a box for her sewing room. He picks up his phone and sends Jake an email.</p>
<p>The next night, he arrives just before eight. It’s an unassuming industrial building, clad in white steel siding. There’s no signage to show that he’s in the right place but when he pushes on the door, it’s unlocked. A rack filled with wood sits to his left while in front of him a casual seating area greets him, black leather sofas sit in front of a hand-crafted coffee table. The Moody Blues are playing over the speakers and the smell of sawdust fills his senses.</p>
<p>“You must be Clint.” A lanky man slinks across the room to meet him at the door, a hand outstretched. His free hand squeezes Clint’s arm, overly familiar for someone he’s never met before.</p>
<p>“Jake?” There’s no one else here, but this man with the unbuttoned plaid shirt and worn jeans is not what he was expecting.</p>
<p>“That’s me.” Jake’s casual clothes are a strange choice for a class with power tools but perhaps tonight’s lesson will be more introductory. “Can I get you something? A whiskey, maybe?” He gestures behind him to the fully stocked bar that sits beside a worn leather couch. Mixing alcohol and woodworking? That can’t be safe. He shakes his head, refusing the offer. </p>
<p>“Are there others coming?” He hadn’t considered the possibility that he might be the only person to show up. He should leave. Everything about this set-up feels wrong, from the open alcohol to the lack of safety equipment. There are lots of different hobbies. He’s always wanted to make his own beer. Or maybe he could learn to play the piano?</p>
<p>“Yeah, they’ll be a few others. Why don’t you have a seat?” Jake sprawls on the other sofa, legs flung apart haphazardly, drink clasped casually in one hand. Clint sits gingerly on the edge of the black leather sofa. Beyond the sitting area, a full scale woodworking shop takes up most of the space. Several projects sit in various stages, a partially finished chair rests on top of the workbench. “So, Clint, are you new in town?” Jake draws out his name softly.</p>
<p>“Just moved here a few weeks ago.” Jake takes another sip of his drink. “But my son and his husband have lived here for a while. Maybe you know them? They own Rose Apothecary. Patrick Brewer and David Rose?” </p>
<p>“Oh, Patrick and David. They’re a beautiful couple.” It’s a strange thing to say but before he can comment, a handful of people burst through the door, laughing and chatting. They head to the bar as a group, and drinks in hand, surround him in the seating area. Maybe he has the wrong night. His experience is limited but this doesn’t look like a woodworking class.</p>
<p>“I’m Gwen. And this is Pablo.” A woman about his age with short grey hair gestures to the much younger man on her heels and holds out her hand. “Is this your first time?”</p>
<p>“It is. Do you come here often?” Gwen is wearing a black leather jacket over a form-fitting blouse. Behind her, Pablo rests his hands on her shoulders. He’s wearing leather pants.</p>
<p>“Oh, Jake and I go way back.” Gwen’s answer tells him next to nothing. She pours drinks for herself and Pablo before sitting beside him on the couch. </p>
<p>“Do you do a lot of woodworking, then?” This situation is becoming weirder by the minute.</p>
<p>Gwen laughs uproariously and takes a sip of her drink. “You could say that. I enjoy working with hardwoods and hand tools.” Gwen snorts into her drink. Beside her, Pablo rests his hand high on her thigh. Gwen. Pablo. It’s the woman from the personal ads. Everything about her is average. Her short-cropped grey hair, her round figure. Nothing about her suggests that she’s carrying on the salacious affairs detailed in the personals. </p>
<p>A startled voice makes him turn to the door. “Mr Brewer— Clint! What are you doing here?” Stevie makes a beeline towards him, frantic words spilling out of her. “You shouldn’t be here— Does Patrick know you’re here? You need to leave!”</p>
<p>“Stevie. I didn’t know you were interested in taking a woodworking class.” A friendly face is more than welcome. Gwen and Pablo are making him increasingly uncomfortable and Jake has disappeared. The other people who have come in have added more alcohol to the already overflowing bar cart, whatever is happening here tonight, woodworking is not on the table..</p>
<p>“Oh— yeah— right. A class. Jake just told me that the class is cancelled and we need to leave. Like now.” Confused, he follows along as Stevie guides him towards the door, her shoulders tense and her eyes wide. She shakes her head at Jake as he comes towards them, tugging Clint outside.</p>
<p>Cars line the road in front of Jake’s and as they stand on the sidewalk, more cars drive up disgorging people in groups of twos and three who disappear inside Jake’s shop, laughing and talking. “Stevie, what’s going on?” He pulls Stevie to a stop as she drags him along the sidewalk. </p>
<p>Stevie blushes, the flush of color is foreign on her normally composed features. “Mr Brewer, those people aren’t here to learn carpentry.”</p>
<p>“So why are they here?” </p>
<p>“Let’s just say they’re here to do a different kind of woodworking.” He stares at her blankly until she makes a rude gesture with her hands.</p>
<p>“Oh. <em>Oh</em>.” Now he’s the one who’s blushing.</p>
<p>“You really need to go.” Stevie’s voice is insistent and she holds out her hands like she wants to push him to his car. Using her slight frame to block the sidewalk, she stands with her hands on her hips as though she’s worried he might dodge past her to push his way back into Jake’s.</p>
<p>“Yes. God, yes.” He pauses, suddenly afraid of the near-telepathic power of the small town gossip network. “You won’t tell Patrick about this are you?”</p>
<p>“He won’t hear it from me.” There’s a spark in Stevie’s eyes that’s less than comforting, but he doesn’t want to press her on it.</p>
<p>“Good, Good.” Back in his car, he waves to Stevie. He backs out of the parking space. He raises an eyebrow as in the rearview mirror as she turns on her heel and heads back inside Jake’s wood shop.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“So, Stevie told me something interesting yesterday.” David fingers the small black case on the kitchen counter but he doesn’t open it. On the other side of the island, Patrick’s knife snicks back and forth as he chops fruit for their breakfast.</p>
<p>“You can’t distract me with gossip, you know. You’re going to have to open that eventually.” Patrick nods at the case and David nudges it with his fingertip.</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.” Patrick is right, of course, he can’t put it off forever. “She said she ran into your dad. At Jake’s.”</p>
<p>“What?” Patrick puts down the knife on the cutting board, strawberries forgotten. “What?” His eyes are enormous and round and his face is buffering, the synapses being rewired. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, he didn’t know. And Stevie got him to leave before they had any whiskey.” He puts air quotes around the last word in case Patrick misses his meaning.</p>
<p>“Oh, my god.” Patrick drops his head into his hands, muffling his voice. “Does he know now?”</p>
<p>He shrugs, ignoring the box on the counter. “She said she had to tell him something. So yeah, he knows.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my god.” Patrick repeats himself, he picks up the knife and puts it back down again. “We can never go to Jake’s again.”</p>
<p>“Okay, well maybe we can revisit that decision down the line, hmm?” He steals a piece of strawberry from the cutting board. Mechanically, Patrick picks up the knife and starts slicing again, there’s a snap to his knife work. </p>
<p>Patrick takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He gestures at the box on the counter with the tip of his knife. “Quit stalling and open the case, David.” </p>
<p>“Fine.” He flips open the lid. The black-rimmed glasses that he’d chosen at the optometrist’s office stare back at him. It’s not that he doesn’t like the frames he’s selected, after all, his taste is impeccable and it had proved easier than he expected to find a look that complimented his aesthetic. It’s what they represent that’s making him twitchy and uneven. He pokes the corner of the frame with his index finger before picking them up out of the case and unfolding the arms. </p>
<p>Trying not to grimace, he slides the glasses onto his nose. Across the island, Patrick’s body goes still. David bites his lip as the tension builds between them. This was a mistake. Of course Patrick hates them. He can’t wear them now. Across the counter, Patrick sets down the knife without looking, it clatters against the cutting board. </p>
<p>“You hate them.” Before David can take them off, Patrick is around to his side of the counter, his hand stilling David’s motion.</p>
<p>“I do not hate them.” Patrick tilts his head, forcing David's eyes upward. With a feather-light touch, Patrick runs a finger along one arm of the glasses, the vibration of it echoes on his skin and he shivers. “But I’m not sure they’re a good idea.” Patrick’s voice is low and rough, his hand slips to the back of David’s neck.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement—” Patrick’s kiss cuts him off. His lips are hot and insistent and David acquesices immediately, one hand going to Patrick’s hip to draw him closer.</p>
<p>“It was hard enough to keep my hands off you before.” Patrick pants as he pulls away. “What am I gonna do now?” His hand grips David’s bicep. Even through his sweater, the press of Patrick’s fingertips leaves five distinct circles of heat.</p>
<p>David brings a hand up to his face to adjust the corner of his glasses. Patrick’s eyes widen as he follows the movement. “So, you like them, then.”</p>
<p>Patrick’s laugh is shaky and wanting. He presses a soft kiss to David’s temple. “Yeah. Yeah, I like them. Maybe later, you can read to me in bed?” He steps back, tugging at the front of his jeans as he puts the counter between them. David smirks softly to himself. </p>
<p>Patrick finishes chopping the strawberries, sneaking glances at David’s glasses as he puts them into a bowl, setting it down beside the whipped cream. He takes the first waffles out of the waffle iron and passes over a plate. David’s mouth waters at the sight of the crisp waffles. He picks up his fork but stops before he takes the first bite. “So, there’s something else I want to tell you.”</p>
<p>“It must be serious if you’re not eating your waffles.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to tell you. That is, I want to tell you I don’t want to tell you about something?” Patrick frowns, concerned. He’s not making any sense. He takes a deep breath and puts down his fork. “I started drawing again. But I don’t want to show you.” He hates these moments where he accidentally sets himself up and exposes things that are truly important to him. Even now, the tendrils of his past claw at him, insisting that Patrick would never be okay with being shut out of his life.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick takes out the next waffles and sets them on his own plate. He looks at David questioningly, like he’s waiting for David to reveal his actual secret.</p>
<p>“That’s it?” He picks up his fork again, like he’s performing cutlery ballet. “Don’t you want to see them?”</p>
<p>“David, you’re allowed to keep things for yourself.” Patrick comes around the counter to sit on the stool beside him. For Patrick these things are always so simple. Even though his husband finds it hard to share his own secrets, with David, he’s unfailingly generous. </p>
<p>“So you’re not curious?.” He frowns uneasily, not convinced that Patrick isn’t hiding his resentment at being excluded.</p>
<p>“You can show me when you’re ready.” Patrick rests his hand on David’s thigh. “Or never. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”</p>
<p>Patrick isn’t perfect. He’s not good at coping with unexpected surprises and when he gets in his head he’s often snappy and rude. But he gets David in a way that no one ever has. He puts his hand over top of Patrick’s and finishes his waffles.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Family Dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>“David? Did you use the last of the printer paper?” The printer makes a disgruntled ‘I’m out of paper’ noise before blinking angrily at Patrick. He rifles through the drawer where they keep their office supplies. It’s empty. With a huff, he slams the drawer closed, glaring at the printer.</p>
<p>David appears in the doorway of their shared home office. “I may have printed a few things for my closet mood board, yes.” </p>
<p>Great. Of course David used the last of the paper to organize his sweaters and now Patrick can’t print the documents he needs. He opens the drawer again, before slamming it shut. “How am I supposed to print things for my meeting at the bank?”</p>
<p>“Maybe you should have printed your work documents at work.”</p>
<p>“I would have printed them at the store last night, but someone had other priorities.” How is it that he’s almost forty years old and he’s still regularly distracted by his husband’s back room blow jobs? “Now I’m going to have to stop at the store before I go to Elmdale.” This was not how he wanted to start his morning. He’s rushed now, his planned schedule in tatters. He’ll have to hurry David out of the house, no easy task on the best of days, before he scrambles to get to the bank on time.“If you’d just write things on the list, this wouldn’t happen.”</p>
<p>“We both know that’s probably not going to happen.” David shrugs him off like it’s no big deal. The casual dismissal sticks under his skin. </p>
<p>“David, can you at least try?” His voice is sharp and David recoils, his hands twisting his rings. </p>
<p>“Well. I’m sorry I messed up your little meeting.” Without another word, David disappears down the hall.</p>
<p>“David—” He’s mad at himself more than anything. David will never remember to put printer paper on the shopping list, even though he’s happy to add pizza and ice cream before they run out. They’ve been low on paper for the past week and he kept forgetting to do anything about it. </p>
<p>David never cares about any of these things. If it was up to David, they’d run out of everything except snacks and maybe wine before he lifted a finger. He didn’t mean to hurt David’s feelings, but sometimes...sometimes it’s like he’s the only one who cares about the day-to-day stuff. </p>
<p>That’s not fair. The little voice pokes at him. David doesn’t care about grocery lists but he’s the one who does the laundry and cleans the bathroom, jobs that Patrick hates. With a sigh, he talks himself out of his sulkiness, saving the document to print at the store and goes to find his husband.</p>
<p>He finds David on the porch swing, his knees tucked beneath his chin. “Hey.” David’s eyes flick away from the distant point he’s focusing on in the garden, not quite meeting Patrick’s gaze before he returns to his contemplation of their backyard. Patrick sighs, his anxiety about the meeting at the bank tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.” </p>
<p>“You’re not wrong.” David pulls his knees in tighter, trying to make himself smaller. “Sometimes I don’t try because I know you’ll take care of it.”</p>
<p>He sits on the swing beside David, nudging him with his shoulder. “Sometimes I don’t clean the bathroom because I know you’ll take care of it.” David gives him a twisted smile and the grip on his knees eases a bit as he finally meets Patrick’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Just meet me halfway. A sticky note, a text message, a carrier pigeon…”</p>
<p>David grimaces, but he’s amused now. A hand slips free of his knees and attaches itself to Patrick’s shoulder. “There’s no need to bring poultry into this.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Marcy squints at the uneven clashing of bright purple and red petunias that some half-hearted gardener has shoved willy nilly into the unkempt flower bed beside Rose Apothecary. The flowers are a futile attempt; they’re struggling amidst the fallen leaves and dried out husks of last year’s flowers. A few meters along, a plaque pokes out from the dead flowers. She steps closer for a better look. </p>
<p>
  <strong>THE</strong><br/>
<strong>MOIRA’S</strong><br/>
<strong>ROSE’S</strong><br/>
<strong>GARDEN</strong><br/>
<strong>4856</strong>
</p>
<p>She frowns at Jocelyn. “I don’t get it.” She reads the sign again. The words aren’t any clearer the second time. This wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting when Jocelyn had texted her about 'doing her part to honor Moira’s legacy.'</p>
<p>Jocelyn bounces in place, the laminated kittens on the front of Jocelyn’s pink sweatshirt shimmer in the morning light. “I know it’s a little overgrown, but it just needs a little attention. And since you’re practically family…” </p>
<p>She eyes Jocelyn narrowly. Does she want to take over the care and attention that Moira’s garden needs? This is how it starts. Jocelyn will rope her into this one thing and then the next thing she knows, there will be bake sales and fundraisers and she’ll never escape Jocelyn’s perky smile and pink kittens. “Not the garden, the sign.” She moves closer as though that will help her decipher the message more clearly.</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, that’s the way Johnny wanted it.” Jocelyn’s voice is unquestioning, as though she’s never been exposed to the chaotic decision-making of the Rose family. Marcy smiles tightly, certain she’s being manipulated, but not sure how to get out of it. The sign doesn’t matter, really. It’s just one more example of the strange legacy Moira has left this town. </p>
<p>“Is that Moira’s birthday?” Even as she says the words, she knows that’s not the case. Moira’s birthday is in July, David and Patrick had flown to LA last year to celebrate.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” Jocelyn shakes her head doubtfully. Marcy hates the way her hair bounces as she moves.</p>
<p>“Huh.” She could say no. But then Jocelyn will probably make some passive aggressive comment about how Marcy doesn’t fit it in and the next thing she knows everyone in town will be talking about it. She scowls at the wilting flowers. Jocelyn isn’t wrong, it will take a bit of work to bring the garden back, but it’s doable. Maybe she should just tear everything out and start again with a less garish color palette. A loud squeal makes her jump, distracting her from any further questions.  </p>
<p>“There it is!” Four young women come up behind them. All four of them are wearing black and white. Marcy’s not sure if Moira would be flattered or horrified by the homage. “Look, it says on the sign.” She and Jocelyn step back as the four women arrange themselves on the wooden wall of the garden, trying to get as close as possible to the plaque with Moira’s name on it, snapping selfies. </p>
<p>“Do you think she chose these flowers herself?”</p>
<p>“I bet there was a ribbon cutting when it opened.”</p>
<p>“Moira probably stood in this exact spot.”</p>
<p>After a flurry of photos from an array of different angles, the women move to the end of the block. The one in the lead squeals loudly. “Rose Apothecary! It’s probably named after Moira.” A second flurry of photos ensues before the women disappear into the store, leaving Marcy to wonder what kind of reception they’ll get from David.</p>
<p>She exchanges an amused glance with Jocelyn as the two of them move to the end of the garden. “Do you hear from her?” Jocelyn might be annoying, but dealing with the Sunrise Bay fans makes her feel a sudden camaraderie.</p>
<p>“Moira?” Jocelyn nods. “She texts a lot. I didn’t think she would. Once they left, I thought she’d want to wash her hands of us, but it hasn’t been that way.” Marcy revises her earlier thoughts. If she says no, Jocelyn will probably tell Moira that Marcy doesn’t appreciate her. She can just about imagine how well that would go over. </p>
<p>“She sends me photos of the show and the red carpet. And photos of David and Patrick, which I’ve usually already seen.” Moira’s texts are sporadic. Sometimes Marcy will get ten in one day and then none for several months.  </p>
<p>“She sends me those too, but she likes to chat, too. I don’t think there are many people in LA she can just talk to, you know?” It’s the first time Jocelyn has been this candid and Marcy likes her a little better for it. Not well enough to think of Jocelyn as a friend, but a little better nonetheless.</p>
<p>The picture-takers tumble out of David and Patrick’s store, staring at their phones as they cross the street to the cafe, forcing Bob to slam on his brakes in the middle of the intersection. Marcy turns back to the garden, the Sunrise Bay fans have flattened the flowers next to the sign, Marcy fluffs them with her hand and they droop at her sadly. At least if she takes this on she’ll have control over what happens instead of being at Jocelyn’s direction. “Well—” </p>
<p>“I knew you were the right person to ask.” Jocelyn clasps her hands together. “Between Rollie’s soccer games and swim lessons, I just don’t have time. And now that Gwen has left Bob again, she says she can’t do it and Twyla’s doing this new baseball thing with Patrick, so she’s too busy. So I just thought you’d be the perfect person. Thanks, Marcy, you’re a lifesaver.” With that, she follows the Sunrise Bay fans across the road to the cafe. </p>
<p>“Fiddlesticks.” It’s a gift how Jocelyn can talk people into doing things without leaving them any choice. </p>
<p>She’s staring glumly at the wilted petunias when Patrick calls her name. “Mom?” Her son comes around the corner from the store, “What are you doing here?” He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a quick hug.</p>
<p>“I think I just got press-ganged by Jocelyn into looking after Moira’s garden.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, you have to watch out for Jocelyn. She looks nice, but she makes it  almost impossible to say no.” Patrick shoves his hands deep in his pockets, a habit he’s had since he was a little boy. He smirks at her. “Well, I look forward to seeing what you come up with, David’s been complaining about the garden for weeks. Listen, I have to run, I have a meeting with the bank in Elmdale.” </p>
<p>Patrick squeezes her arm on his way by, his car is parked up the road. She calls after him. “We should catch up soon…” But it’s too late, he’s already in the car, waving at her as he drives past. With a frustrated sigh, Marcy reads the sign one last time before heading for home.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David adjusts his reading glasses on his nose and flips to a clean page in his sketchbook, the lines flowing from pencil to page. A few quick strokes later and a portrait of Alexis appears. In between customers, he adds the lines to her hair, losing himself in the soothing run of the pencil on the paper. </p>
<p>Patrick had left a few minutes before to go to Elmdale. He’d been extra nice to David as he printed his bank documents at the store, the way he is when he’s still mad but he’s trying not to show it. David presses too hard on the pencil and the tip of the lead breaks. Fuck. He shouldn’t take it personally. Ronnie’s been working on his walk-in closet since last Thursday, and Patrick’s been tense and short-tempered all week.</p>
<p>He rubs out the mark and sharpens the broken pencil before putting the final touches on the drawing of Alexis. There was a time when he would obsess over every detail of a drawing, unable to call anything finished for fear of a detail missed. But now, he’s driven by a desire to capture the image in his head and move on to the next. Setting part of himself free, let loose in the lines on the page.</p>
<p>The bell on the door rings pulling his attention from his drawing. Instead of a customer, Ronnie comes through the door. “David.” </p>
<p>“Ronnie.” He rests his hand possessively on top of the sketchbook. “I hope you’re not here to tell me bad news about my closet renovation.” He likes Ronnie, but balancing the disruption of the construction project with Patrick’s snippiness makes his skin tighter than usual. He hopes there isn’t some delay that might force him to deal with an even grumpier Patrick.</p>
<p>“No, everything’s on schedule.” She sets his design of the new walk-in closet on the counter. He spins it around for another look, the crisp lines of the layout are illustrated with annotations and tiny sketches. “I’ve got a proposal for you.”</p>
<p>“I’m listening.” He closes the sketchbook, tucking the drawing inside. </p>
<p>“That design you did was really good. Better than anything I can do.” Ronnie leans her hip against the counter, crossing her arms. Ronnie doesn’t hand out unnecessary compliments. Ever. If she says it, she means it. </p>
<p>David takes off his reading glasses and sets them on top of the sketchbook. He rubs the bridge of his nose as it takes a second for his eyes to adjust. “It was nothing.” Ronnie raises an eyebrow raised at his attempt to be humble. “Thank you.” </p>
<p>“So I thought that a partnership could benefit both of us. You do the designs and supply accessories from the store.” Ronnie waves her hand towards his carefully sourced locally crafted artwork. “And I’ll build them.”</p>
<p>It’s not a terrible idea. In fact, it’s a pretty good idea. The spark he’d had inside him when he’d brought the Apothecary to life flares up, roaring into a bonfire. Taking other people’s visions and making them better, crafting scraps of ideas into something exquisite in a way that goes beyond the candles and home decor they sell. A wave of beautiful things, washing over the countryside. There’s just one problem. Patrick will lose his mind if he starts a partnership with Ronnie. </p>
<p>He wants to say yes, to blurt out his acceptance. But Patrick’s already mad from this morning and this would be so much worse than running out of printer paper. “I have to talk to Patrick.” Patrick won’t want to deal with Ronnie. Even more than that, Patrick will insist that the mood board David is constructing in his mind isn’t enough and he won’t commit to Ronnie’s idea until he’s created a dozen spreadsheets and a business plan. </p>
<p>Ronnie makes a face the way she always does when Patrick’s name comes up. “You do what you have to do. But I’ve already got a client, a young couple from Elm Valley who want to redesign their kitchen, so don’t wait too long.” She walks to the door, turning back at the last second. “This could be very profitable for both of us, don’t let Patrick ruin it.”</p>
<p>After she leaves, he puts on his reading glasses and flips open his sketchbook to a fresh page, jotting down his list of reasons to convince Patrick the partnership is a good idea. An excited buzz pulses under his skin about the possibilities of a new venture. Add-on services like this will benefit both the store and their vendors. And Ronnie’s right, there are lots of other opportunities. Stevie’s been struggling to find a designer to develop a cohesive layout for the new motels, who better to take that on than someone like himself with an intimate knowledge of the few positives and many negatives of staying in a motel room? </p>
<p>This could be very lucrative. He just hopes Patrick sees it the same way.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick scans the notice board at the front of the coffee shop while he waits for his order. The meeting at the bank had gone well, he’s feeling good about the renegotiation of the line of credit for the store. With a higher limit, it will be possible to bring in some higher-priced pieces of hand-crafted furniture that David has had his eye on. </p>
<p>That morning’s conversation with David weighs on him. He’s been on edge lately, one too many snide remarks from Ronnie making him feel like an intruder in his own home. Two more days and she’ll be done. Assuming she can stick to the schedule. Still, he shouldn’t have taken his bad mood out on David. Searching for a distraction, he lets his gaze slide past the flyers for lost pets and community barbeques, landing on an unassuming ad in the bottom corner of the bulletin board.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Schitt’s Creek Piano Lessons</strong><br/>
<strong>Beginning, Intermediate, All Ages</strong><br/>
<strong>$50/hour</strong><br/>
<strong>Text 555-3241 for an appointment</strong>
</p>
<p>He played the piano when he was little, his parents forcing him through hours of practice until he’d quit in a fit of teenage rebellion, channeling his musical instincts into the cooler, and much more portable, guitar. The piano had remained a fixture in his parents’ living room, mostly unplayed except for the occasional Christmas party, until they’d gotten rid of it one summer in favor of a larger sofa.</p>
<p>He’d like to play again. Despite its unwieldy size, a piano is approachable. People gather around pianos. Maybe at Christmas, their friends and family will join him at the piano, singing carols and drinking eggnog. Or he’ll sit down on the hard bench after dinner, fumbling his way through an Elton John song while David reads his book on the sofa. Or, more likely, until David makes him stop so they can watch a movie. He texts the number before he talks himself out of it. One lesson can’t hurt and if he hates it, he won’t go back.</p>
<p>While he’s waiting for his order, he pulls up Craigslist and scans the ad listings for pianos. There are lots of options. If he borrowed Roland’s truck, he could pick one up that afternoon after his lesson. He clicks on an ad that reads <em>Free to a good home</em>. No. It’s too soon. David will kill him if he brings a piano into their carefully curated living room without consulting him. And after complaining that morning about the things that David forgets to tell him, bringing home an unexpected piano won’t help. The barista calls his name and he picks up his tea and his to-go sandwich from the counter just as his phone buzzes with a text.</p>
<p><strong>555-3241: </strong>I have an opening at 2 pm today. 4200 Maple Ave, Schitt’s Creek</p>
<p>The address is familiar, but he can’t place it. He texts back to accept the time, humming to himself as he carries his tea and sandwich out to his car. If he hurries, he’ll get back to Schitt’s Creek in time for the piano lesson. He texts David that he’ll be late, chuckling to himself as he starts the car, mentally revising his plan for the day. </p>
<p>Forty minutes later, he pulls up in front of a brown ranch-style house. The house is vaguely familiar, although he’s certain he’s never been inside. Footsteps approach from inside the house when he rings the bell. The door springs open, the person on the other side shattering his unconscious image of a retired schoolteacher who moonlights by giving afternoon music lessons. </p>
<p>Ronnie’s eyes widen and then narrow as she registers his presence. Patrick gapes at her. “Ronnie?” His voice is strangled and pitchy. “What— what are you doing here?” This is entirely too much. He’d signed up for this hoping for a distraction and here was Ronnie, the person he was trying to get away from, popping up out of nowhere.</p>
<p>“I live here.” All sensible thoughts flee his mind as Ronnie stares him down. “Wait. You’re my two o’clock?” She cackles and holds the door open. “This should be fun.”</p>
<p>His feet are rooted to the step like he’s a kid in a fairy tale about to enter a dragon’s lair. “Maybe I should go.” Whether he stays or goes, Ronnie will never let him live this down. </p>
<p>“You scared?” Ronnie crosses her arms and leans against the door frame, a challenge written across her face. </p>
<p>“Of course not.” The words fly out of him. He’ll never admit to Ronnie how intimidated he is. There’s no way he’s going to give up without even trying. </p>
<p>“Well?” Ronnie gestures again. Sure that he will regret this with every fibre of his being, he follows her inside. </p>
<p>“I, um, didn’t know you played the piano.” He cringes as his voice hits the same obsequious note that Ronnie brings out in him every time they meet. Just once he’d like to be in control of the conversation when they speak.</p>
<p>“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He trails behind her into the living room. Ronnie’s piano is well-worn, the case is made from oak, the patina is scuffed, probably from generations of hands opening and closing the lid. “Take a seat. Here’s how this is gonna go.” Ronnie stands beside the piano, her hands on her hips. “You don’t understand something, you ask. You don’t like my teaching style, you leave. Got it?”</p>
<p>“Got it.” He rests his hands on the lid of the piano, expecting Ronnie to sit down and begin the lesson. Instead, she tilts her head at him, looking him up and down. He squirms at the attention, shifting on the bench.</p>
<p>“You play before?” Ronnie flips open the lid of the piano. </p>
<p>He drops his hands into his lap, sitting like a scolded schoolboy on the edge of the bench. “When I was a kid.”</p>
<p>“And then you decided the guitar was cooler?” A world of judgement rests behind Ronnie’s words, as though she sees back in time to his teenage self who just wanted everyone to like him. Or maybe she sees his adult self who too often feels the same way.</p>
<p>“Something like that.” He keeps his words as even as possible, his voice fluttering from the effort of not rising to her challenge. He can do this. He can let Ronnie tell him what to do for an hour and a half. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the piano keys in front of him. </p>
<p>Ronnie sniffs, unimpressed. She sorts through the books on the top of the upright until she finds one and pulls it out of the pile. She flips it open and sets it on the music rest. “Play that.”</p>
<p>He scans the page. It’s not a complicated piece but it’s been a long time since he’s even touched a piano. He runs his hands over the keys, tapping a few until he finds middle C. He plays through the first two lines. It’s choppy, filled with missed notes and incorrect keys, his resentment and desire to impress Ronnie reflected in his playing. The wooden bench is hard, the edge digs into his thighs and he misses the casual simplicity of the guitar. </p>
<p>“Okay.” Ronnie cuts him off. She pulls a second piece of music out of the pile and nods at him to play. It’s more complicated than the first and he stumbles through it. “Hmm. Not terrible considering you haven’t played in twenty five years.” Ronnie regards him appraisingly. “You’re not Mozart, but I’ve heard worse.”</p>
<p>“Thank you? You know, this might be the first time you’ve ever given me a compliment. I should mark this day on my calendar...” He trails off at the disgusted look on her face.</p>
<p>“God, you’re mouthy. I don’t know how David or your mother stand it.” Rolling her eyes, she sits beside him on the piano bench. “Just for that, we’re gonna do some scales. Build up your muscle memory.” Ronnie puts him through his paces for the next hour. She’s tough and she refuses to laugh at any of his jokes, although her lips twitch at least once, so he’s counting it as a win. But she’s fair and she’s just as quick to tell him when he’s done something right as she is to correct him. </p>
<p>At the end of the session, she closes the lid and purses her lips, studying him carefully. “So. Are you coming back next week?” Which answer would give her more satisfaction? If he quit right now or if he came back so she could torture him again?</p>
<p>“Are you offering?” They stare at each other in competitive silence, neither willing to give in. Finally, he breaks. “Yeah, I’d like to come back.”</p>
<p>“Good.” Ronnie gets up from the piano and hands over a couple of books. “Practice the pieces we went over. And your fingering.” </p>
<p>He bites back a very inappropriate comment about the ways he plans to practice his fingering, his eyes darting away from Ronnie’s knowing look. Right. He’s going to have to practice. On an instrument he doesn’t have. “Uh…I don’t have a piano?” He should have called the person from the ad. Then he wouldn’t be standing in Ronnie’s living room feeling like even more of an idiot than usual.</p>
<p>Ronnie barks out a laugh. “You signed up for piano lessons without a piano? That’s the funniest thing I ever heard. You better hope your husband can fit a piano into his aesthetic. Ha!” </p>
<p>Ronnie ushers him to the door, still chortling to herself. “You let me know when you’ve got things figured out.” With that, she closes the door firmly in his face, leaving him standing on the step, piano music in hand, even more on edge than he’d been two hours before.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The house echoes. Even with most of the boxes unpacked, the house still has a foreign, empty feeling to it. Clint wanders into the living room with his coffee. Marcy has gone to meet Jocelyn after a confusing request about a flower garden that used to belong to Moira.</p>
<p>It’s been a month since they moved to Schitt’s Creek and Marcy is out, going for coffee with Ronnie, meeting with Jocelyn, attending the business meetings at Ronnie’s house. Clint doesn’t begrudge her any of the friends she's making, he just hadn’t pictured himself being the one sitting at home. </p>
<p>He hadn’t noticed before now how many of their friendships rested on Marcy’s shoulders. When he was working he’d had his brother and his family and that had been enough. But now...he shakes off his mood. Retirement is making him lost and maudlin. It’s an adjustment period. What with the move and not going to the office every day, he’s bound to feel differently. He just needs some time to acclimate to his new reality.</p>
<p>A list. That’s what he needs. A list of things to keep himself busy until Schitt’s Creek feels like home. </p>
<p>Build a fence</p>
<p>He’s never built a fence. He crosses it out and starts again.</p>
<p>Call Ronnie about fence<br/>
Try a new hobby</p>
<p>Woodworking is definitely off the list. He doesn’t need a repeat of the incident with Jake. Maybe he can learn a hobby on the internet? But then he’ll just be sitting at home by himself. He throws the pad of paper and the pen down on the coffee table and flips on the TV. It’s just before noon so his only choices are Australian Rules Football or Premiere League Darts. He turns it off again and stares glumly at the darkened screen.</p>
<p>He can’t just sit here all day. There must be something he can do, somewhere he can go. Maybe Patrick wants to get together for lunch. He picks up his phone and calls the store.</p>
<p>“Rose Apothecary. This is David Rose.”</p>
<p>“David, this is Clint...Brewer. Is Patrick there?” Marcy always chats with David whenever she calls, but the things David is interested in mystify him.</p>
<p>The well-practiced customer service tones fall away from David’s voice. “No, I haven’t seen him all day. He went to the bank in Elmdale. And he just texted that he’s going to be late.” There’s a lengthy pause before David speaks again. “Can I help you with something?”</p>
<p>He can’t face sitting alone in this house all day. He wants to get to know David better. He’d just hoped that Patrick would be there when he did. “I don’t suppose you want to go for lunch?”</p>
<p>“Well, I can’t leave the store and Patrick says we have to maintain regular business hours or people get confused.” The tone of David’s voice leaves little doubt who might be to blame for such confusion. “But I’d never say no to take out.”</p>
<p>“Take out it is. I’ll see you soon, David.” He ends the call, glad for an excuse to leave the house.</p>
<p>David is helping a customer when he arrives with their lunch, but he waves Clint into the backroom. He sets the takeout containers on the corner of Patrick’s desk. The stockroom is neatly organized, larger boxes stacked along the far wall and smaller items arranged on the industrial shelving beside him. Every shelf is labelled in David’s precise handwriting. </p>
<p>
  <em>Moisturizer, Hand Cream and Body Milk (non-consumable)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Breath Mints, Lip Balms. We keep track Alexis, so don’t even think about it!</em>
</p>
<p>The bell over the door jingles and David appears in the doorway. “Thank you for bringing my lunch. That’s very generous.”</p>
<p>“It’s no problem.” He hands David one of the boxes and they sit side-by-side on the worn sofa beside Patrick’s desk. David tucks a napkin into the neck of his sweater. Today he’s wearing a relatively simple black hoodie and what might be a skirt. In black, of course. Before he’d met David, he’d never thought about men wearing skirts. But somehow David makes the skirt look masculine. Which is strange, because David isn’t always the most masculine guy. And it shouldn’t matter. He tries to imagine the reaction if one of his friends back home had worn a skirt. He can’t picture it. A long drawn-out silence fills up the room as he unwraps his sandwich and takes the first bite. He chews and swallows as the dead air builds between them. “You, uh, said Patrick went to Elmdale?”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. Something about our line of credit.” David waves his ring-clad right hand in the air. What would have happened to David if he and Patrick hadn’t found each other? Would David have learned the business details he needed to operate or would he have been crushed beneath the weight of them? Not that David is incapable, quite the opposite, but it’s always been clear that his priorities lie elsewhere.</p>
<p>While he’s been contemplating an alternate reality, David has almost finished his sandwich. The silence grows again and Clint racks his brain for a way to fill it. “Has the store been busy?”</p>
<p>David’s mouth twists as he acknowledges the inanity of the question. “Yes, it always picks up in the summer.”</p>
<p>“Good, that’s good.” The sandwich is better than past meals at the cafe. He takes another bite. David finishes his sandwich and balls up the napkin. “Uh, Patrick said you’re building a walk-in closet?” </p>
<p>David’s eyes light up. He’s accidentally hit on the right question. “Well, I’m not building it, Ronnie’s doing the work, but yes.” Both David’s hands have been unleashed, they float through the air. “Proper clothing storage is very important.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He’s never given much thought to clothes storage beyond putting his clothes on hangers if they needed it. This might be the longest conversation he and David have ever had. He raises his eyebrows, hoping David will continue. David happily embraces the question, launching into a detailed explanation of choosing quality hangers and protecting against moths and the value of an organization system. </p>
<p>He eyes David’s monochrome outfit, the deceptively simple sweater probably cost more than his mortgage payment. If he owned one five hundred dollar sweater, let alone the dozens that David possesses, he’d probably put more effort into clothes storage.</p>
<p>“With my unified color palette, I organize by brand and style, but organizing by color is a valid choice.” David continues, describing the differences and similarities between Rick Owens and Neil Barrett. “They both use materials in avant-garde ways, so they’re closer in style than say, Givenchy.”</p>
<p>Clint nods, only barely following the names of the different designers and their signature styles. How does David keep everything straight? Every signature element, every piece of minutiae about spring collections…it reminds him of the way he and his friends had poured over their baseball cards as kids. ‘It’s like baseball!”</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” David’s hands freeze in mid-air as though he’s trying to decide if he should be offended. He draws a breath, ready to launch the indignant words into the air. Clint hurries to forestall David’s outrage. </p>
<p>“All the different details every year. Like how every team has a different win percentage.” Judging by the look on David’s face, his impromptu sports analogy isn’t as successful as he’d hoped.</p>
<p>David’s hands drop to rest on his hips, the outrage fading from his face. “I don’t understand anything you just said, but sure.”</p>
<p>Before Clint tries his baseball-fashion analogy again, the store door opens and a familiar voice rings out. “Hello?” </p>
<p>Clint follows David out into the main room to find Jocelyn standing at the counter. “David. I’m so glad you’re here.” </p>
<p>David grimaces at her, his hands reaching out to straighten the breath mints at the end of the till. “Jocelyn. Where else would I be?”</p>
<p>“You must know why I’m here.” The kitten on the front of Jocelyn’s pink sweatshirt only adds to her exuberance. </p>
<p>David’s body language changes as he smiles reluctantly at Jocelyn. “Is it too much to hope that you’re here to buy something?”</p>
<p>Jocelyn laughs, it reminds Clint of the sound a cat might make before it captures a mouse. “Don’t be silly. You know what time it is.” </p>
<p>“Closing time?” Involuntarily, Clint checks his watch. It’s 12:51. </p>
<p>Jocelyn is unfazed, she leans closer and David’s body twitches with the effort of not pulling away from her. “David, next month is the annual fundraiser.”</p>
<p>David winces and it’s genuine this time, not the playful banter he’d been teasing Jocelyn with earlier. Clint interrupts before David and Jocelyn start on another round. “Fundraiser?”</p>
<p>Jocelyn’s gaze swings over to him, delighted by his interest. “The 5th Annual Moira Rose Benefit for the General And Specific Beautification of Schitt’s Creek. Or the MRBGSBSC for short.”</p>
<p>“No one calls it that.” David interjects, rolling his eyes. He takes a step sideways, carefully arranging the items on the counter into neat stacks. </p>
<p>“What do they call it?” Clint interjects, searching for an alternative to Jocelyn’s unwieldy acronym.</p>
<p>“A pain in the ass, mostly.” David puts one hand on his hip and stares at Jocelyn belligerently. </p>
<p>“David. Your mother would be horrified by your lack of interest in her legacy.”</p>
<p>“My mother isn’t here, so she can be horrified on her own time.” David leans against the counter, crossing his arms defiantly. “Jocelyn, I told you last year that the store will donate a gift basket and I will show up against my will on opening night, but I’m not helping you organize this overwrought pageantry in my mother’s honor.”</p>
<p>Jocelyn fixates on Clint and he instantly regrets getting involved. “Clint. What about you? This could be a magnificent opportunity for you to get to know the town better.”</p>
<p>“Uh…” As amusing as it is to watch David reject Jocelyn’s attempts to draw him in, it’s less enjoyable to be the focus of Jocelyn’s attention. Before he can refuse, Jocelyn is nodding.</p>
<p>“Great, I’ll add you to our volunteer roster.” Just like that, Jocelyn disappears out the front door, the echo of the bell lingering behind her.</p>
<p>A smirk pulls the corner of David’s mouth upwards. “My mother appreciates your contribution.”</p>
<p>“No, she doesn’t.” It’s inconceivable that Moira gives a second thought for this fundraiser, even if it is being done in her name.</p>
<p>“No, she doesn’t.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>It’s after four o’clock and Patrick still isn’t back yet. David scowls to himself. The store echoes, empty and incomplete without Patrick, like it knows something is missing. How does this happen? He and Patrick spend nearly every moment together, every night, every morning and all day at the store and he can’t get enough. He wants to crawl out of his skin because Patrick’s been gone for a few hours. He checks his phone, there’s no update from his husband, he rereads the message Ronnie had sent that morning.</p>
<p><strong>Ronnie: </strong>The Pattersons are ready to go, let me know if you’re in</p>
<p>He does want in. He wants it as badly as he’d first wanted the store, as badly as he wants the 2025 Fall Givenchy collection. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t hesitate. But it’s Ronnie. He straightens the lip balms on the counter. How will Patrick react? It hadn’t bothered him when Patrick and Ronnie were squabbling over baseball, but now…he wishes he’d encouraged both of them to make things right. If Patrick would just get back from wherever he’d gone, then he could explain. What’s taking him so long, anyway? He sends Patrick a quick text.</p>
<p><strong>David: </strong> Where are you?</p>
<p>There’s no response. </p>
<p>The last bit of the day is always slow. He restocks the candles and the bath salts and dusts the upper shelves that Patrick always misses. He’s in the back corner, fluffing the scarves when the door opens and Stevie steps inside. She’s wearing her black leather jacket over top of a white blouse and dress pants.</p>
<p>David frowns at her in consternation. “Excuse you, what is this Frankenstein of a look?” Stevie is resistant to his unsolicited fashion advice, much to her ongoing detriment, but this mash-up is on a different level.</p>
<p>“It’s cold outside, I didn’t want to catch a chill.” Stevie dares him to say something more about her outfit.</p>
<p>The sun beats through the windows of the store reflecting off the freshly-shined counter. “Your delicate constitution aside, this is the nicest day we’ve had all week.” </p>
<p>“There’s a breeze.” Stevie crosses her arms on her chest, the buckle on the jacket rattles at the movement. </p>
<p>“Seriously, where are you going looking like that? And is there anything I can do to fix it?” With the right scarf to soften the edges he could create a cohesive look. He tilts his head and Stevie glares back at him, defiantly. </p>
<p>“If you must know, the Regional Hospitality Conference is in Elmdale this year.” It still shocks him sometimes, that his sarcastic, almost rude, best friend is the COO of a multi-million dollar company. </p>
<p>“Well, that explains the suit, but not the jacket. Are you planning on stopping to pick up randoms on your way there?” There’s only one kind of business that Stevie engages in when she wears that jacket. </p>
<p>“They have a happy hour.” Picking up someone who frequents the happy hour at a regional hospitality conference isn’t his definition of a good time, but it’s hardly any worse than the Wobbly Elm. </p>
<p>Once, in the throes of post-wedding bliss, he’d suggested that Stevie should get married next. After she’d stopped laughing, she’d told him that all she needed was someone to worship her body since he and Patrick filled her emotional needs. It had been a rare moment of such intense sincerity that he’s never mentioned it again, which perhaps was her goal. That doesn’t mean he can’t tease her about her choices. “So you’re literally mixing business with pleasure.” </p>
<p>Her eyes snap at his hypocrisy. “Speaking of inappropriate work relationships, where’s Patrick?”</p>
<p>David sighs and pats the scarves one last time. “I don’t know.” He checks his phone again, but there’s still no text from Patrick. Where is he? Images of Patrick’s car, broken and mangled, flash through his mind.</p>
<p>“You don’t know? Is he missing? Did he run away to join the revival of Canadian Idol?” </p>
<p>“Patrick’s too old—” He breaks off, not willing to fall for her diversion. “He went to Elmdale and he’s not back yet which is annoying because I need to talk to him about this thing Ronnie wants me to do.”</p>
<p>Stevie raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure Patrick would like nothing better than to get involved in a project with Ronnie.”</p>
<p>He groans. “I know.” He tips his head back as though the answer to his dilemma might be written on the ceiling.</p>
<p>“So what is Ronnie’s idea, anyway?” David tells her about his closet design and Ronnie’s proposed partnership and the potential client who is waiting to hear his decision. He throws his hands in the air, pacing the length of the store. Stevie eyes him carefully. “Wait, you’re really excited about this.” </p>
<p>He nods, screwing his face up in response. “If it was anyone else, the decision would be easy.”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess you’d better talk to Patrick about it, then.” He would talk to Patrick. He wants to talk to Patrick. If only he knew where Patrick was— </p>
<p>“Talk to me about what?” The bell on the door jingles and Patrick finally steps into the store. “Hi.” His hands find Patrick’s shoulders as his husband gives him a quick kiss, both of them ignoring Stevie’s disgusted protest. The part of him that feels itchy and out of sorts slips back into place with Patrick’s return, like fitting the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.</p>
<p>“Okay, I’m gonna go. Leave you two to sort this out.” Stevie squeezes past them towards the door. She holds it open and Marcy squeezes past her. Why are there so many people in his store? All he wants is a five-minute conversation with Patrick. He smiles gamely at Marcy.</p>
<p>“David, Patrick, I’m so glad I caught you. I wanted to see what time you were coming over for the game tonight.” He’s never tried to keep track of Patrick’s sportsball games but surely he would have mentioned— If he’d known about the possibility of eating Marcy’s food, he wouldn’t have had that mid-afternoon muffin.</p>
<p>“Uh…” There’s a crease between Patrick’s eyebrows that he gets when he’s been caught off guard. David wants to rub it away with his thumb. He settles for rubbing Patrick’s shoulder instead. “What game?”</p>
<p>“The Jays are playing the Red Sox for the first time this season.” The Jays and the Red Sox are baseball teams, but why is this different from any other game?</p>
<p>“Oh, mom, I totally forgot.” Exhaustion hovers at the back of Patrick’s voice as he tries to explain. “Dad and I used to watch every Jays-Red Sox game together when I lived at home— When I lived in West Canthor.”</p>
<p>“We should go if you want to.” He rubs at Patrick’s shoulder, beneath his fingertips Patrick’s muscles are tight and set. David’s feeling generous, he’ll overlook Patrick’s failure to tell him he’d made plans, even if there is baseball involved.</p>
<p>“It’s almost five, why don’t you close up and come for dinner?” Marcy makes the best pot roast. And lasagna. And pie. Maybe there’ll be pie. Pie will make up for having to watch baseball. </p>
<p>He exchanges a look and a shrug with Patrick. If Patrick wants to spend time with his parents, he won’t stand in his way. Besides, Marcy’s cooking is better than both of theirs. “Will there be pie?”</p>
<p>Marcy laughs and he loves her for it. “I’ll see what I can do.”</p>
<p>With an eye roll for David, Patrick nods at Marcy. “Okay. Let me help David close up and then we’ll come over.”</p>
<p>Patrick follows his mom to the door and turns the lock behind her. David frowns at him, there’s a tension to him that hadn’t been there when he’d first come into the store. “Is this okay?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” Patrick moves behind the counter to stand in front of him, his hands braced on either side of David’s body. “I was just looking forward to spending the evening with my sexy husband who I haven’t seen all day.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. So you think I’m sexy?” Usually Patrick will call him out when he fishes for compliments, but he must be feeling the effects of a day spent apart.</p>
<p>Patrick presses against him but he doesn’t kiss him, his weight holds David in place. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”</p>
<p>“Say it again.” He brings his hands up to Patrick’s shoulders, fingers teasing at the hair that’s just long enough to curl over his collar.</p>
<p>“You’re practically porn, baby.” Patrick’s hands sneak under the hem of his sweater, making him shiver despite the warmth of the day.</p>
<p>“As long as you’re not planning on attempting that position we watched the other night. Maybe I could bend that way ten years ago? But not anymore.”</p>
<p>“As the younger man in this relationship, I can confirm that we won’t be trying that, thank you very much.” David huffs at him just so Patrick will kiss his annoyance away. He loses himself in the way the press of Patrick’s lips, the nip of his teeth, the dart of his tongue still leaves him wanting more. He’d worried once, in the days leading up to their wedding, that one of them might get bored over time, but he relishes the familiarity of it, the safety of knowing what Patrick wants and how far he might push. </p>
<p>“We’re going to be late.” He mumbles the words around Patrick’s kisses. Patrick’s weight is making the counter dig into his lower back, sending an uncomfortable ache down his right leg. Jokes aside, he’s definitely not as young as he used to be. Maybe he should go back to Twyla’s yoga class? He needs to stay limber in case Patrick wants to try something new.</p>
<p>“No, we won’t. My mom doesn’t know how long it takes to close up the store.” Patrick kisses along his jaw before running his nose softly along David’s ear. David tilts his head and Patrick takes advantage, his lips finding the hinge of his jaw. “Wanna see if I can get you off and close up the store in the next twenty minutes?”</p>
<p>“Yes, god, yes, I want that very much.” David tangles the fingers of his right hand in Patrick’s hair, bracing his left against the counter. His husband sinks to his knees in front of him, his hands making quick work of the button on David’s jeans and his mouth quickly surrounding him. It shouldn’t be possible for Patrick to get him off as quickly as he does. He’s not a teenager anymore, but Patrick pushes his buttons in exactly the right way and within minutes, the tension is unwinding inside him and he’s spilling down Patrick’s throat with a low groan. He strokes his right hand down Patrick’s cheek before clutching the edge of the counter with both hands. His body is loose and floaty. It’s ridiculous after a five-minute blowjob, but it’s Patrick, who can take him apart with one look of his whiskey brown eyes.</p>
<p>Patrick gets to his feet, his knees cracking as he stands and presses a sloppy kiss to David’s mouth. “Now I just need you to sweep the floor for me.” Patrick pulls out the broom from behind the curtain of the storeroom.</p>
<p>“You need to practice your aftercare.” David grumbles as he adjusts his clothes and takes the broom.  </p>
<p>Nineteen minutes later, they’re standing on Clint and Marcy’s doorstep. Patrick rings the bell and Marcy’s footsteps come towards them. Fuck. He didn’t talk to Patrick about Ronnie’s proposal. Marcy opens the door. It’s too late now, it will have to wait. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“You’ll never believe who’s been destroying Moira’s garden!” Marcy sets a second piece of pie in front of David. “Ice cream?” David nods and she passes the carton across to him and he adds a large scoop of vanilla to his plate. Her twenty minute conversation with Jocelyn that morning had turned into a day-long effort of gathering supplies and convincing Roland that some of the flowers they’d purchased for the rec centre would be better used to beautify downtown.</p>
<p>“How do you even know that Moira’s garden exists?” Patrick sets his fork down on the edge of his plate. “I thought everyone had forgotten about it.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t forget about it, it’s an eyesore. I don’t know why the Town doesn’t maintain it properly.” David rolls his eyes at the state of the garden and Marcy can’t disagree.</p>
<p>“Well, the Sunrise Bay fans haven’t forgotten about it either. Originally, I thought they were the ones destroying it, but that’s not the case.” She’d encountered three more groups of fans, all of them seemingly unfazed by the condition of the garden as they posed for selfies and chattered about Moira.</p>
<p>“What Sunrise Bay fans?” David mumbles around a bite of pie.</p>
<p>“The ones downtown, dear. Anyway, it turns out that it’s not them, it’s Roland Jr who’s been destroying all the flowers. It was pretty rich for Jocelyn to ask me to look after that garden when it’s her son who’s responsible.” She’d arrived back at Moira's garden that afternoon with an armful of gardening supplies just in time to discover Rollie decapitating the last few remaining flowers in the garden with a stick. </p>
<p>“Why are you involved in this again?” Patrick finishes his pie, his eyebrows crease as he sets down his fork. </p>
<p>“I don’t know. Jocelyn insisted.” Why had she let Jocelyn manipulate her into this? Now she was stuck with an annoying task that she hadn’t wanted to do in the first place. </p>
<p>“Jocelyn recruited me to help with a fundraiser today.” Clint finishes his pie and puts down his fork.</p>
<p>Patrick shakes his head. “You guys need to watch out for Jocelyn. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up on every committee in town.”</p>
<p>A change of topic is in order. “David. Ronnie was telling me about your new venture.” In between trips to Elmdale and arguments with Roland, she’d had lunch with Ronnie. Ronnie is never exuberant, but she’d talked at length about her plans with David. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, new venture?” Patrick’s fingers tighten on his fork and his voice is strained as he turns to David. David’s shoulders tense briefly and Marcy winces to herself, she’s overstepped. </p>
<p>“It’s just an idea.” David finishes his pie and puts down his fork, a defensive note creeping into his voice. “Ronnie thinks we should do more projects together like the reno. I’d do the designs and she’d do everything else. It’s a chance to expand the vision of the store.”</p>
<p>“And how would that vision work? Would she work for us? Or would we sign a partnership agreement?” Patrick plunges into the details, his voice rising. David’s eyes narrow in response and tension bounces between David and her son.</p>
<p>“Okay, is everyone done with their pie? The game’s about to start.” She gathers up the empty plates into a determined pile. She shouldn’t have said anything, why had she brought it up?</p>
<p>“I don’t know, it’s just an idea.” David repeats himself as his hand reaches for Patrick before pulling back. “And I would have told you earlier if you hadn’t been so intent on…closing the store...before we came here.”</p>
<p>“Who wants to watch the game?” Clint’s voice rises, unnaturally bright. He hands the last of the plates to Marcy.</p>
<p>Patrick takes a deep breath. His eyes flick sideways, searching for David. “Yeah. Let’s watch the game.”</p>
<p>They finish clearing the table and settle into the living room. Patrick rests his hand on David’s thigh as David cuddles close to him. The two of them must have disagreements, but she’s never been privy to them before. Is this a sign that both of them are letting their guard down around her? Patrick has always been laid back and his willingness express his unhappiness makes her uneasy. She shouldn’t have said anything. But Ronnie had mentioned the partnership so casually that she’d assumed that David and Patrick had talked about it. </p>
<p>Despite the casual affection between the two of them, Patrick’s shoulders are set and he’s overly focused on the game, an unnaturally intent look on his face as he stares dead ahead at the TV. David flips through his phone and Marcy stays quiet, not wanting to make things worse. Happily, the Jays win the game and Patrick relaxes enough by the end to tease David about his request for snacks mid-way through the seventh inning. </p>
<p>David and Patrick say their goodbyes shortly after the game ends. In the kitchen, she exhales, like air escaping a balloon, before running the water to fill the sink. Clint opens the cupboard to put away the snacks and drinks they’d had out for the game. “I wish I hadn’t said anything.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure they’ll work it out.” Clint wraps one arm around her shoulders, hugging her softly, his other hand holding a pair of dirty wine glasses. “I just hope they look at all the pros and cons of expanding their business model. It can be a big undertaking.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure Patrick wouldn’t agree to something without doing his due diligence.” She takes the wine glasses to the sink to wash them. “Does he seem different to you? Patrick, I mean?” Her earlier uneasiness expands into a fully developed anxiety that things might not be okay with her son.</p>
<p>“Different how?” Clint puts the leftover chips back into the cupboard and wipes down the counter. Leaning against the cupboard, the sharp note in Patrick’s voice echoes in her mind.</p>
<p>“Less...agreeable. Like he’s not willing to try so hard to please.” Patrick has changed. Of course he’s changed, how could he not? And he spent too much of his life going along with things that weren’t right for him. David is the best thing that ever happened to him. Nervousness that things might not be right between them crawls along her spine.</p>
<p>“Maybe?” She rinses out the dish cloth and folds it over the edge of the sink to dry. Clint picks up a tea towel and dries the wine glasses. “Is that bad?”</p>
<p>“No. I guess not.” Truthfully, it makes her uneasy. She’s always had a personal desire to shy away from conflict, to smooth things out and make them okay. Patrick’s willingness to showcase his irritation with David makes her uncomfortable even though David took it in stride. She's always thought that she and Patrick were too much alike. They both hide their feelings with denial and humor. But now...maybe they aren’t that similar after all. </p>
<p>“Honestly? I wish he’d been more disagreeable...before.” Clint puts the wine glasses away and folds up the tea towel. “Instead of just going along with things.” She nods, taking his point. “Maybe this is closer to who he really is.”</p>
<p>It knocks her back. Once again she’s made assumptions about her son. But maybe knowing someone isn’t about checking things off of a list. She tries to welcome the fact that Patrick is more comfortable revealing who he really is, even in uncomfortable moments. She's not sure she likes the feeling. She winces and meets Clint’s eyes. “Maybe.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick’s hands grip the steering wheel precisely at ten and two. Neither he nor David have said anything since they’d left his parents’ house and David sneaks small glances at him as he drives. He shouldn’t be mad. He’s barely seen David all day and the only time they’ve had alone, they’d been <em>occupied</em> with other things. It’s because of Ronnie. She gets under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch and he hates how she and David get along so well. Carefully, he signals to turn onto their street, placing his hand back on the wheel.</p>
<p>He brings the car to a halt in their driveway and releases the steering wheel with a sigh. “We should talk about this.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” David’s hand hovers between them, hesitating until Patrick faces him. “We should.” David’s hand brushes against his, lightning quick. An invitation. An apology. He’s not having this conversation in the car, closing the door firmly, he strides to the front door, David’s uncertainty enveloping them as he trails behind. </p>
<p>He opens the front door, David at his back. The front hall is dim this time of day, he steps inside, there’s a loud crack as his foot connects with a toolbox resting just inside the door in the shadows.</p>
<p>“Ow! Goddammit!” Ronnie is everywhere. She’s in his house, she’s teaching him to play piano, she’s at the store making plans with David and apparently she’s having coffee with his mom. It’s too much. Every ounce of irritation from today bubbles up inside him. The day had started badly and gotten worse from there and in the midst of everything, he’s forgotten to buy printer paper again. David’s hand hovers over his shoulder. He brushes it away. He grits out the words through clenched teeth. “I need a minute.”</p>
<p>He stalks through the house, slamming the back door behind him as he goes out onto the deck and into the garden. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he scans the garden. Something’s different. In the growing dusk he can just make out the carefully planted raised beds with their perfect rows of vegetables. There. On the ground beside his tomatoes, the limp form of the geraniums he’d brought home last week lie in a sad, wilted pile from where the squirrels have excavated them from their pots. “Fuck.” It’s almost a yell and he hopes the neighbors aren’t in earshot. “Fuck, fuck.” Storming into the garden, he kicks at the empty pot. Missing, his foot collides with the wooden frame of the garden bed, sending jolts of pain through his already sore toes. “Fuck!” </p>
<p>The back door opens and David leans against the pillar at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed as he watches him, head tilted to one side. Even in the shadows, the long line of David’s body draws his eyes, cutting through his annoyance.</p>
<p>“What?” Well aware that he’s acting like a petulant child; he’s glad that David’s not close enough to see the pout on his face. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” David’s voice is concerned and uncertain. He’s worried about the thing with Ronnie. Whatever that is. Because David hasn’t told him. He doesn’t want to talk about Ronnie. His toes throb dully, a sullen reminder of his ruined garden. </p>
<p>“The squirrels destroyed my geraniums.” David pushes off of the porch and comes to stand beside him. “And my toe hurts.”</p>
<p>“Oh, honey. C’mere.” David wraps his long arms around him and he leans into his touch. He burrows his face into David’s neck, breathing in the faint cedar scent of his cologne. He wants to cling to his annoyance, but David’s hands are rubbing soft circles on his shoulders, easing his tension. “If you don’t want me to do this thing with Ronnie, I won’t.” David’s words are soft in his ear. “You’re more important than some idea of Ronnie’s.”</p>
<p>It’s hard to stay mad with the heat of David’s body surrounding his.  “No, we should talk about it. Make some spreadsheets.” If it makes sense for the business, then he’ll cope with seeing Ronnie all the time. Hopefully.</p>
<p>“Mmm. I already made a mood board.” The soft hum of David’s voice wraps around him, soothing the last of his irritation.</p>
<p>“David, what do I need to do to convince you that a mood board and a spreadsheet aren’t the same thing?” David plans things out visually in a way that Patrick will never master, each element tying the others together into a complimentary spread of light and color. </p>
<p>“They’re the same thing to me.” David’s voice is too playful for his outrage to be real. He pinches David’s side gently, just to make him squirm.</p>
<p>“I know and you don’t know how that keeps me up at night.” He loosens his grip around David’s waist and nods towards the porch. “C’mon, let’s go talk about this.”</p>
<p>“You won’t need to swear at the squirrels some more?” David gestures to the sad remains of his geraniums.</p>
<p>“No promises.” David huffs a laugh by his ear. He takes David’s hand and leads him over to the porch swing. “Tell me what you and Ronnie have cooked up.”</p>
<p>David takes him through the concept where he’d do the designing and Ronnie would do the construction with products sourced as much as possible through their current suppliers. It’s a good idea, the next extension of the business and David is excited about it; his hands flash in the air as he talks about the vendors he wants to include and the first project that Ronnie has found. Between the deal with the Rosebud and their online store, the business has grown. An expansion is the next logical step. David is excited about this. He wants to be excited too. But. Does he really want to get into business with Ronnie? His shoulders tighten as his previous tension returns.</p>
<p>“I have some questions.” David stops talking and raises an eyebrow at him. “How are you going to structure the business relationship?” He doesn’t want to bring Ronnie into their business. Not only because he doesn’t want to share what he and David have built, but a formal partnership will lead to problems down the road.</p>
<p>“I was going to get my business manager to come up with some options.” David’s fingers dance across his shoulder, he leans into the familiar touch.</p>
<p>“Oh. Is that the same business manager you’re sleeping with? The one with the enormous conflict of interest?” </p>
<p>“Yep.” David leans in to kiss him as his mind catalogs the possibilities. A new business that’s part of Rose Apothecary? Or something less formal? A joint arrangement between themselves and Ronnie?</p>
<p>Still. It’s Ronnie. She won’t want to work with him any more than he wants to work with her. “Is Ronnie going to be okay with me handling the business end of things?”</p>
<p>David shrugs against his shoulder. “She’ll be professional.” Ronnie had been professional during his piano lesson this afternoon, but how will she handle it when she’s not the one in charge? He doesn’t want to spend his days fighting with her over invoices and receipts.</p>
<p>“And where are you going to do this?” It’s one thing to come up with a concept, but David will need a space to work. He doesn’t want to go to the store every day while David works somewhere else. An unhappy ball forms in his stomach. There have already been too many days like today where they spend too many hours apart.</p>
<p>“Hmm. I thought upstairs at the Apothecary?” The knot in his stomach unravels a little. It could work. The upstairs has been vacant since they took over the lease, it would make a perfect workspace. “I thought you could move your desk upstairs at the same time?” David’s hand runs along Patrick’s shoulder, plucking almost nervously at the seam of his shirt. “We could share the space?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Let’s do it.” Ronnie knows he and David are a package deal. She’ll just have to cope with his presence. He kisses David, heat building between them. “After I make some spreadsheets and talk to Ronnie, of course.”</p>
<p>David laughs, his chest rumbles beneath Patrick’s hand. “Of course.” </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Try these on.” David thrusts an armful of shirts at his husband, each of them carefully culled from his clothing collection. Patrick accepts them reluctantly, a doubtful look on his face. Ronnie finished the closet renovation two days ago and David has been sorting and organizing his clothes ever since.</p>
<p>“David. You know I love your clothes, but...” Patrick holds the shirts away from his body as though they might bite if he lets them get too close.</p>
<p>“Just trust me. If you hate them, they’ll go up on eBay.” He’d loved these shirts in their day, but he hasn’t worn them in years. Picturing the way they’ll cling to Patrick’s broad shoulders and thick biceps, he bites his lower lip in anticipation as Patrick wavers and gives in.</p>
<p>“Fine.” Patrick strips off the navy blue sweater he’s wearing and picks up the short-sleeved Balenciaga button up with the hatch mark pattern. His bare skin ripples as he pulls on the shirt, pulling David’s eyes. Patrick does up the buttons and moves to tuck it into his Levis, leaving it untucked when David makes a face.</p>
<p>He pulls Patrick over to the mirror in the middle of the far wall. Floor to ceiling length wardrobes line either side, each one carefully lit with LED spotlights. His hanging items will go in these cupboards while his sweaters and shoes will fill the rest of the space. A padded window seat sits beneath the large window, sunlight streams into the space. It turned out better than he imagined. He can’t wait to get his clothes organized properly.</p>
<p>“Turn.” He gestures to Patrick to turn in front of the mirror. The short-sleeved shirt is tight across his shoulders and David wants to bite at the back of his neck. He settles for resting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Maybe when we go out?” He purrs the words into Patrick’s ear and his husband tenses beneath his hands. What he wouldn’t give to dress Patrick in the clothes he deserves. Still, one step at a time.</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Patrick’s voice is strangled and he licks his lips. His hands float uncomfortably, finally settling in place on his hips. The masculine stance makes David’s breath catch and he thrusts his hips against Patrick’s, just to make him flinch. Patrick leans into him as he runs a hand down Patrick’s chest, splaying his fingers above Patrick’s belt buckle. A flick of his fingers is all it would take to turn this from a fashion show into a striptease. Later. He wants to see the rest of the clothes on Patrick first.</p>
<p>“Okay, that one goes in the keep pile.” He picks up a black button up with a white geometric pattern. “Let’s try this one.” Patrick strips off the first shirt, depriving David of a show before he pulls on the next one. It clings enticingly but it needs something more. As Patrick does up the buttons, he goes into Patrick’s closet in their bedroom, returning with the burgundy jacket they’d brought back from their trip to Patrick’s parents’ house. “Put this on.”</p>
<p>With a bemused glance, Patrick puts it on over top of the shirt. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”</p>
<p>“And? Are you having fun?” Patrick looks away, a blush gliding over his cheeks. He won’t do these things for himself unless David pushes him. He smooths the shoulders of the jacket, leaving his hands atop Patrick’s shoulders. “How does that feel?”</p>
<p>Patrick squirms a little, rolling his shoulders under David’s hands. “I think I like it.” In the mirror, he searches Patrick’s face for any signs of discomfort, but his shoulders are relaxed beneath David’s hands. The jacket makes him look professional. And hot. He’ll slide his tongue beneath the open collar of Patrick’s shirt, just for a second. No. There’s one more shirt he wants Patrick to try. Then they can play. </p>
<p>“You look very good. One more.” He hands Patrick his Givenchy button up with the black and white rose pattern. This time Patrick takes his time with the buttons, leaning into the game. His eyes tease David in the mirror as his fingers work each button with exaggerated slowness.</p>
<p>The black color of the shirt and the symbolism of the roses almost makes him come undone when Patrick puts it on. Patrick leaves the top two buttons unbuttoned, and David wants to bite him, right there in the open V of his chest, to add his mark to that pale skin, to double-down on his claim. <em>This is mine. My husband, covered in roses, wearing my clothes, marked by my teeth.</em> “Take it off.” He growls the words and Patrick starts, lifting his head.</p>
<p>“Are you sure, I kind of like this one?” Patrick frowns at him, looking down at the shirt as he smooths it with his hands. The motion goes through David like lightning. </p>
<p>“Take it off so I don’t damage it.” He clenches his hands into fists to keep from pulling the shirt from Patrick’s body.</p>
<p>“Why would you damage it?” Patrick’s eyes go dark as they meet his. “Oh. Oh.” Patrick undoes each button with agonizing slowness, his eyes riveted to David’s in the mirror. Slowly, he slides the shirt off and sets it on a nearby shelf. And then David is on him, pushing him backwards even as he tugs at Patrick’s t-shirt, eager to untuck it. Patrick’s knees hit the window seat and he tumbles into a sitting position with a startled “Oof.”</p>
<p>“So I’m guessing we’ll be keeping that one?” Patrick’s eyes flash with amusement as David fumbles with his belt. With a frustrated growl, he pulls the belt free and undoes the button of Patrick’s jeans, shoving them aside. Despite his teasing, Patrick is panting, his face is flushed. Not wasting any time, he takes Patrick into his mouth, forcing a strangled gasp from his husband’s lips. He takes Patrick deeper, making his hips jerk in response. The clinking of the belt buckle keeps a steady accompaniment to the rhythm of his mouth as Patrick loses control.</p>
<p>Patrick’s breathing slowly returns to normal and he pulls David up onto the window seat beside him, giving him a sloppy kiss. “How long will it take to organize the rest of your clothes?”</p>
<p>David counts the piles of clothes scattered around the room. “Probably a couple of weeks.”</p>
<p>“Mmm. I can’t wait to help.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Whisper of Desire</h2></a>
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<p>When Patrick wakes up at five o’clock, David is snoring softly, a snuffling sound in the back of his throat. He vehemently denies it when he’s awake, of course. Patrick studies him for a moment, his dark hair is tousled, a single curl drooping over his forehead. For a minute, he catalogs the enticing ways he could wake his husband but it’s too early for David to be fully on board with that plan. Instead, he brushes the curl aside and leaves a kiss in its place, pulling his hiking clothes out of the closet and dressing quickly in the ensuite. </p>
<p>Downstairs, he grabs an apple and a granola bar and sets the timer on the espresso machine, scribbling a quick note in the unlikely event that David wakes up before he gets back. He double-knots his hiking boots at the door, taking his keys from his bowl beside the entryway, closing the front door softly behind him and stepping into the early morning. </p>
<p>The sun is just coming up, casting long shadows across their driveway as he gets into the car. The drive is just long enough that he’s able to polish off both the apple and the granola bar before he gets to the trailhead. The sunlight is dappled on the trees, it never fails to remind him of cajoling David to take this same hike five years before. His restless energy dissipates at the thought and his legs find their rhythm, his boots gripping the trail, the sharp smells of the forest surrounding him.</p>
<p>It’s going to be hot today. The stillness of the trees and buzz of the cicadas fills the air despite the early hour. Otherwise, it’s perfectly quiet, the solitude exactly what he needs to start the day. </p>
<p>It’s a short hike, and it’s not long before he comes up the slight rise that leads to the lookout. The memory of David piggybacking him up this section of trail makes him smile and he’s grinning to himself when he comes around the corner to find Twyla sitting in the middle of what he considers his and David’s spot. Which is ridiculous. It’s a popular spot on a public trail, just because it’s where he proposed doesn’t mean that other people don’t come here. He just doesn’t want them here when he’s here.</p>
<p>Twyla sits cross-legged, her eyes closed as her face tips up to the sun. He’s trespassing. He should go. His foot scuffs a rock in the trail and Twyla’s eyes fly open. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” </p>
<p>“Patrick.” Twyla’s smile lights up her face. “I was just finishing my sunrise ritual.”</p>
<p>Oh. “I should go.” He takes a step towards the trail.</p>
<p>“Don’t be silly.” Twyla pats the ground beside her. “I haven’t seen you here before, do you come here a lot?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes.” He mirrors her position, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the cliff. “This is where I asked David to marry me. Which, given how hard it was to get him to come up here, was a bit of a miracle, all round.” </p>
<p>Twyla nods knowingly. “Because of the snakes.” </p>
<p>“What?” Proposal aside, he’s been coming here for years. At least once a month in the summer. And before, he’d come here every day, desperate to calm his whirling thoughts and growing desire for David. That part had never worked, but the hike was an old friend, nonetheless. “What do you mean, snakes?” </p>
<p>“It’s in the name.” Twyla is outright laughing at him now, but he’s too wound up about the snakes to care. He searches his mind for any reference to snakes in connection with this hike.</p>
<p>“Roberts Point?” No. That can’t be right. Whoever Roberts was, his name is almost certainly a more recent appellation for this place. But he’s never given it any thought before now.</p>
<p>“No, no. They renamed it on all the maps after what happened to my grandma’s nephew.” Twyla stares serenely at the field and forest below. </p>
<p>Patrick bites his lip. Against his better judgement, he’s going to have to ask. “What happened to your, uh, grandma’s nephew?”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, it’s a funny story. He was sitting right where you are and a snake came out of the rocks over there. Scared him so badly he jumped up and right off the edge.” Twyla points to a spot a few feet in front of him and he leans back as though the story might cast him over the drop. “He was fine, though. There’s a ledge about five feet down.” </p>
<p>“Well, there’s no way I can ever tell David that. He’d never leave the house again.” Oh, no. Twyla will definitely say something the next time she sees David. Desperation creeps into his voice. “Twyla. You can never, ever tell him.”</p>
<p>“Of course not.” Twyla smiles serenely. “I don’t share my stories with just anyone.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>On Thursdays, the store is open until eight, so David doesn’t go in until noon. Patrick wakes him with good morning kisses when he returns from his hike, all sweaty and smelling of sunshine before he hops in the shower. David drifts off, the press of Patrick’s lips waking him for a second time, accompanied by the scent of the citrus shampoo that Patrick prefers. He stays awake after that, even if he doesn’t make it downstairs for another thirty minutes after Patrick leaves for the store. </p>
<p>Sitting at the kitchen island, he sketches a plan for the upstairs of the Apothecary, pleasantly buzzed from his third macchiato of the morning. With a sigh he puts down his pencil. He needs proper dimensions and a better recollection of the layout to design the new workspace. He flips through his phone. Surely he has some photos of the upstairs? The doorbell rings, interrupting his train of thought.</p>
<p>He flings open the door, hoping it’s not a salesman. “Twyla? What are you doing here?” Twyla might not be the last person he expects to see standing on his doorstep, but it’s close. Maybe she’s brought takeout from the cafe? But her hands are empty.</p>
<p>Twyla smiles at him, unperturbed by his almost rude question. “We came to bring the piano.” She gestures to the driveway where two men with the physique of run-down body builders are leaning against the back of an older model pickup. In the back, there’s a bulky object, wrapped in moving blankets, that might be a piano. </p>
<p>He hadn’t ordered a piano. Had Patrick? It’s a big oversight for Patrick, who makes a point of telling him when he orders new office supplies. “What piano?”</p>
<p>“For Patrick?” Twyla’s smile never falters. “Ronnie told Ray who told Jocelyn who told me that Patrick was looking for a piano.”</p>
<p>“Patrick doesn’t play the piano.” They’d had an entire conversation about it one night at the Wobbly Elm. Patrick had attempted to play the rundown out-of-tune piano in the corner of the bar. It didn’t take long for David and Stevie came to the consensus that Patrick didn’t, in fact, know how to play the piano.</p>
<p>“Maybe he does now?” Twyla’s optimism that Patrick might have spontaneously learned to play is endearing, but does nothing to help David with the practical reality of the piano in his driveway.</p>
<p>If Patrick wants a piano, he won’t be happy if David rejects it without talking to him.“Fine.” With a grimace, he acquiesces to the unseen instrument. Twyla gestures to the two men and David goes into the living room, searching for a place to put the piano that Patrick apparently wants. </p>
<p>A piano. Why couldn’t Patrick learn a more compact instrument like a dulcimer or a harp? A harp would look beautiful in their living room and everyone would ask about it when they visited. Not like pianos which are a dime a dozen. He turns in a slow circle in the living room. There aren’t many options that won’t disrupt his carefully planned flow and aesthetic of the room, but finally he moves the occasional table from one wall and gestures the movers to put the piano in its place.</p>
<p>“I’m so glad you guys can take this piano.” Twyla beams at him happily. “It belonged to my aunt. She was a concert pianist.” </p>
<p>“Oh?” <em>A concert pianist?</em> Maybe Twyla’s family has hidden depths, maybe not all of them are as alarming as she usually makes them out to be. </p>
<p>“Yes. She played piano for all the Christmas concerts at the high school. When they needed a pianist, she was the one they called. Until the farm machinery accident left her tone deaf.” </p>
<p>Or maybe not. He erases his mental image of Twyla’s relatives playing Carnegie Hall. “I see.” </p>
<p>The men put the piano in place and unwrap the blankets. It’s nicer than he expected, especially given its origins. The dark wood case is almost black, it matches the exposed beams in the living room. Maybe he’ll lounge on the sofa with his book while Patrick plays a charming sonata. Something soothing by Beethoven, perhaps.</p>
<p>Twyla snaps him out of his reverie. “Okay, let me know if Patrick wants any other instruments. I think my aunt has an accordion somewhere.” The men bundle up the moving blankets, not even stopping to fold them, a sure sign of their lackadaisical attitude. </p>
<p>David suppresses a shudder at the thought. “Well, we won’t be doing that.” He ushers Twyla to the door. Back in the living room, he surveys the piano from all angles, taking the framed receipt Patrick had given him all those years before and placing it and the potted cactus that had been on the occasional table on top. Tilting his head to one side, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, texting it to Patrick.</p>
<p><strong>David: </strong>Is there something you forgot to tell me?</p>
<p>He’s barely sent the text when his phone rings, Patrick’s number on the display.</p>
<p>“David. Where did you get a piano?” </p>
<p>“Where did I get a piano? Where did you get a piano?”</p>
<p>There’s an interminable pause from Patrick. “Okay. Back up. Why is there a piano in our house?”</p>
<p>“Twyla dropped it off. She said you wanted it. If you don’t want it, does that mean I can get rid of it?” Perhaps he’s been the victim of a piano disposal con that distributes unwanted pianos randomly throughout the community.</p>
<p>“I want it, I just...how did Twyla know? You know what? That’s not important.”</p>
<p>“But you don’t play the piano.” David sits on the bench that came with the piano. It’s hard and uncomfortable. It needs a nice cushion with an appropriately patterned cover that matches the decor of the room. Mrs Garcia has been making throw pillows for the store, he’ll ask if she can make a cushion for the bench.</p>
<p>“Uh.” Patrick’s confusion fades to embarrassment. “I forgot to tell you I started taking piano lessons. From Ronnie.”</p>
<p>David’s not sure where to unpack that sentence. “I didn’t know you were thinking about doing that?” His voice squeaks as uncertainty leaks through. They’ve barely had five minutes together the past few days, so Patrick wasn’t deliberately hiding something as important as piano lessons, but it still makes him uneasy. </p>
<p>“Uh, I wasn’t. There was a poster in the coffee shop in Elmdale, so I texted and it just happened.” David pictures Patrick on the other end of the phone, shifting side to side like a kid who forgot to hand in his homework.</p>
<p>Patrick’s confession forces a laugh from David’s lips. Patrick isn’t spontaneous. He likes plans and spreadsheets and flowcharts. Sometimes, he spends an hour planning a trip to the grocery store. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”</p>
<p>“Is this okay? Having a piano in the living room?” Patrick’s desire to keep the piano flows through the phone. He wants the piano, sight unseen. </p>
<p>“Fortunately for both of us, the piano matches our decor.” Patrick hums at him, and he knows he’s made the right decision. “But for the record, I draw the line at an accordion.”</p>
<p>“Good to know.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick finishes practicing his scales, paying close attention to his fingering on the final run before shutting the lid of the piano. David sprawls across the couch, reading an interior design magazine he insists is research for his recent venture with Ronnie. “I think we should get a dog.” He sits on the couch and David rearranges himself, tucking his toes under Patrick’s leg.</p>
<p>David lowers his magazine. “What’s brought this on?”</p>
<p>He’s been thinking about it for a while. He misses the companionship that comes with a dog. He’d grown up with Snoopy, his black lab, as his constant companion. David would never consider a larger dog, but maybe a smaller dog? Encouraged by the fact that David doesn’t immediately dismiss the idea, he’s tempted to pull out his spreadsheet but David probably won’t find it as persuasive as he does. “I think the reason we have so many squirrels is because Bev and Laura don’t have a dog next door anymore. And I miss having a dog.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” David puts his magazine down on the coffee table. “You know my feelings on dog hair.”</p>
<p>“I do.” He wraps an arm around David’s bent knees and rests his chin on them, giving David his best pleading look. “But someone now has an enclosed, climate-controlled environment for their clothes, so…” David rolls his eyes at his obvious attempt at persuasion. “I was thinking one of those hypo-allergenic breeds that doesn’t shed as much?”</p>
<p>“Maybe we can go look.” David’s face twists as he gives in. “Do any of your hypo-allergenic dogs come in black and white?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Dr Miguel holds his pet adoptions on Saturdays. Patrick insists they get there early so they arrive a few minutes before the doors open. A small crowd lingers outside, a little girl bounces on her heels near the back of the line. “I’m gonna get a kitty.”</p>
<p>“Are you?” Patrick laughs as David carefully maneuvers so that Patrick is between himself and the little girl.</p>
<p>“A black and white one!”</p>
<p>The door opens, distracting the girl and the group moves into the clinic. David’s hand finds his shoulder, gripping it lightly as they move through the door. Inside, he checks in with the receptionist while David stands uneasily behind him. The receptionist hands him a purple leash. “There’s a play area out the back door if you decide you want to take one of the dogs outside.”</p>
<p>“Does this come in black?” David peers over his shoulder, looking at the leash in distaste.</p>
<p>“Uh, sure?” The receptionist trades the purple leash for a black one and directs them through a door on their left. </p>
<p>When they open the door, they’re greeted by a cacophony of yips and barks from the dogs. On their right, a series of large enclosures hold the larger dogs, a few of them sit politely as they come into the hallway as the others jump and bark. Across from them, the smaller dogs are in kennels stacked on top of each other, they bark and wiggle when Patrick comes close. Beside him, David wrings his hands together, overwhelmed. “How are we supposed to pick one? Why don’t they have them organized better? By color palette? Or fur-length? Or their overall ability to contribute to a particular aesthetic?” </p>
<p>“I don’t think dogs work like that.” He presses his hand in the small of David’s back, directing him to the first bank of cages. “We need to see if there are any we want to get to know better.” A black nose pokes out of the bars of the first cage and a poodle barks at them as they approach.</p>
<p>David looks at the poodle apprehensively, his hands clasped together. “Too loud.”</p>
<p>Patrick crouches down to look in the bottom cage. Over his shoulder, David rejects a Pomeranian cross. “Too furry.”</p>
<p>They move down the row, David dismissing the different dogs, one by one.</p>
<p>“Too brown.”</p>
<p>“Too judgemental.”</p>
<p>“Too shifty-eyed.”</p>
<p>David offers an opinion as they stop in front of each cage. About halfway down the hallway, David stops in front of one of the cages.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with its face?” A bulldog cross with a severe underbite stares at them from the bottom row. </p>
<p>“Shh, he can hear you.” David rolls his eyes and moves to the next cage. A smaller white dog with pointy ears grins at them, dancing in place, its tail wagging frantically. It makes soft whining noises when David moves closer. Patrick sticks his fingers through the bars of the cage and the dog licks them softly. David makes a slightly horrified noise but he holds his fingers up and the dog sniffs them without trying to lick, as though it senses David’s opinion on the matter.</p>
<p>“She’s a West Highland White Terrier.” Patrick taps the card on the front of the cage. “It says her name is Snowy.” </p>
<p>“Ew.” </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, we could change it.” He reaches for the latch. “Do you want to take her out?”</p>
<p>“As long as you’re the one in control, then yes.” David backs up a few steps. Patrick opens the door and the small dog practically leaps into his arms. He fumbles for a minute, trying not to drop the squirming bundle of fur that’s trying to lick his face. He clips the lead to her collar. When he sets her on the ground she races towards David, who backs up until she’s out of range at the end of the leash. She bounces in place for a minute before giving a single bark and sitting politely, tongue lolling as she looks up at him. David stares down at her, hands on his hips. “Okay, more of this, please.” He waves a hand in a circular motion in front of the dog’s face. The dog stares up at him and David looks back at her solemnly, the two of them coming to an unspoken agreement. Patrick tugs on the leash and the dog follows them to the door, looking up at David for approval as they walk.</p>
<p>“Let’s go.” A sign at the end of the hall directs them to the outdoor enclosure. He pushes through the door, the dog dances on the leash, racing to the end of the tether before coming back to him. Her leash skills need some work but she watches them both attentively, waiting for instructions as they walk the length of the yard to a bench at the far end. David inspects the bench carefully before arranging himself on the edge. As Patrick sits beside him, the dog jumps up between them, turning in a small circle before lying down with a soft whine, her head resting on David’s knee. David freezes before cautiously rubbing her ears. </p>
<p>“Her fur is very soft.” David stops petting her and the dog raises her head to look at him accusingly nudging at his hand with her nose until he pets her again. David heaves a sigh, his fingers running over her ears. “Fine.” </p>
<p>“David. I don’t want to get a dog if it’s going to be a burden. That’s not fair to her.” He wants a dog. He wants this dog. But only if David wants her too. </p>
<p>“I mean, I could get used to this.” David’s face softens as he looks down at the white face on his knee. The dog’s eyes are slowly slipping closed as he rubs her ears. “But you’re doing all the messy parts.”</p>
<p>“Okay, David.” </p>
<p>“And I get to pick the name.” David sniffs in outrage. “Snowy. Imagine?”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David shoves the retro style chaise lounge to the other side of the room upstairs in the Apothecary. It scrapes on the scuffed hardwood floor. From her bed by the door, the dog lifts her head at the sound. Seeing nothing of interest, she goes back to chewing on her plastic bone. It’s been a week since they’d brought her home and David still hasn’t chosen a name. </p>
<p>“Julia?” The name sounds strange on his tongue. The dog must agree because she ignores him, cocking her head to get a better grip on the bone. </p>
<p>He nudges the sofa into place beneath the windows beside the large potted plant that Patrick had dragged up the stairs from their living room. Patrick had persuaded Twyla’s piano-moving cousins to move his desk upstairs, it sits across from David’s design table. A black and white rug with a contemporary design and several small bookcases complete the space. He takes a seat on the sofa and the dog lifts her head before trotting over and jumping up beside him.</p>
<p>“We talked about this. You know it’s incorrect for animals to be on the furniture.” He scratches her ears and her small body leans against his leg. </p>
<p>Patrick’s footsteps are heavy on the stairs and his husband appears in the doorway, a computer monitor and several dangling cables in his arms. He deposits them on his desk beside his laptop and sits beside David. “It looks good.” </p>
<p>He nods. It will take some time for the room to mould itself to their needs, but he likes it. There’s room for both of them. His drafting table on his left and Patrick’s desk filling the opposite side of the room. All of the spaces in his life are made for two people now. The store. Their house. This loft. Not like his loft in New York City that was five times the size but that only ever had room for one. “Ronnie will be here in a few minutes.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick’s lips brush against his temple and he whistles for the dog. She hops off the sofa, the jingle of her tags keeps time with Patrick’s footsteps all the way down the stairs. A few minutes later the bell over the front door rings and the low rumble of Patrick’s voice is accompanied by a grunt from Ronnie. She appears in the doorway, a rolled-up blueprint in one hand. “Nice space.”</p>
<p>That’s as much small talk as he’ll get from Ronnie. He gestures to the blueprint. “Is that for the motel?” After all these years, he’ll finally have a chance to replace the monstrosity of the motel lobby with an elegant design. Stevie has agreed that whatever he comes up with will be a prototype for all the other motels in the Rosebud Motel franchise.</p>
<p>“Yep.” Ronnie unrolls the drawings of the motel lobby. “Anything you want to keep?”</p>
<p>He could tear everything out and start fresh. The counter, the wood paneling, the dated furniture has probably seen more action than he wants to contemplate. But. He’d met Stevie in that lobby. On more than one occasion in the early days of their relationship, he and Patrick, desperate for privacy, had snuck into the lobby to make out. Once, he would have suggested burning the entire motel to the ground, but he’s gripped with unexpected nostalgia. “The painting behind the desk? But each motel can choose their own, from a local artist or whatever.”</p>
<p>Ronnie nods and makes a note. “Stevie wants to redesign the back area, so it has better storage and office space. Turn it into an actual space she can use when she’s here. We should go do a walk-through. Is this a good time?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” He follows Ronnie down the stairs, stopping to scratch the dog’s ears. Ronnie waits as he kisses Patrick as quickly as possible, ignoring her muffled snort. “We’re going to the motel. I’ll see you later.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I’m doing pick-ups this afternoon, but Monique should be in soon.” </p>
<p>“See you at home tonight?” Patrick nods and David kisses him again even though he can practically feel Ronnie rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“Are we gonna do this or are you gonna make out with your husband?” Ronnie puts one hand on her hip, an impatient look on her face.</p>
<p>“Nice to see you too, Ronnie.” Patrick smirks past him, making Ronnie huff with annoyance as she pulls the door open. He hurries after her, cursing Patrick’s tempting lips for putting him in a position where he has to rush down the street.</p>
<p>Stevie’s waiting for them in the back room of the motel she’s converted to an office. It’s dingy and cramped, somehow the decor is even worse than what’s visible in the public areas of the motel. Rather than the grey utility-grade carpet that graces the other areas of the motel, the carpet here is a green shag that might have once been a bright emerald green but years of grime and poor maintenance have caused it to fade to a dingy olive. The wood paneling from the lobby is here, but halfway around the room, a lighter wood color takes over. A desk made from dark brown melamine graces one corner of the room, piled high with books and files. </p>
<p>“So we’ve been over your plans and we’ve got some ideas.” Ronnie looks for a place to roll out the blueprint, but every surface is crowded with books and files. With a shrug, Stevie waves them back into the main office and they sit around the coffee table perched on the edges of the ugly beige plaid furniture. David shudders, his skin crawling. Stevie’s aunt probably bought them with a five dollar bid at a serial killer’s estate sale well before he was born. </p>
<p>“Just so you know, we need to replicate this in a hundred other motels, so you’ll need to keep the luxury items to a minimum.” Stevie directs this statement in his general direction. </p>
<p>David rolls his eyes at her. “Trust me, anything we do will be a step up.” He’s spent far too long deciding on a color palette and combing hospitalitydesigns.com to be defeated by Stevie’s budget.</p>
<p>The three of them work through the plan, changing some details and confirming others. Stevie is ruthless, she forces them to justify every proposed change, no matter how small. He’s never seen her like this, in full work mode. It’s both intimidating and awe-inspiring. The woman who used to spend her time playing sudoku and making rude remarks to the guests is long gone. </p>
<p>Does his dad see this side of her? His dad thinks the world of Stevie. She’s one of the family now, the heir-apparent who bolsters his dad’s quest to dominate the inelegant world of low-budget motels. His dad understands Stevie in a way he’s never understood David. And yet, his dad can be enormously blind. Does he see this sharp, ruthless woman? Or does he see Stevie as the same person who refused to bring them towels when they needed them?</p>
<p>They wrap up and Stevie signs off on the final plan. Ronnie makes her excuses and it’s just the two of them, like old times. David leans on the front counter as Stevie gathers her things and says goodbye to Laurel, the college student who works the front desk part-time. “Come to the store and meet the dog.” </p>
<p>Stevie slings her messenger bag over her shoulder. He’d finally convinced her that the olive green bag she’d had for years wasn’t appropriate for any business that occurred outside of Schitt’s Creek. A couple of Christmases ago, he and Patrick had given her a hand-stitched black leather bag from one of their vendors to replace it. “I still can’t believe Patrick convinced you to get a dog. You’ve gone soft.”</p>
<p>“Who was the person who sent me a string of heart emojis when I sent that photo this morning?” Every morning, he bribes the dog to sit perfectly, sending her perfectly posed photos to Stevie and Alexis while he has his morning coffee. </p>
<p>“My phone doesn’t have a heart emoji, so it couldn’t have been me.” They grin at each other in an amused stalemate before Stevie follows him out the door to the store.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Good girl.” Patrick is teaching the dog to lie down for treats when Monique calls to say that her shift at the coffee shop in Elmdale has been extended and she can’t make it in. He can’t blame her. They don’t give her enough hours. But he’s going to have to cancel on their vendors. Again. And they’re almost out of Brenda’s moisturizer and Mrs Chan’s jam. Waiting a week means losing out on sales of some of their best-selling items. If he can’t leave now, he’ll have to reschedule. David’s off with Ronnie and Patrick needs to be back by one o’clock for the first game of the new baseball league.</p>
<p>He sighs and the dog whines at him. While he’s been pondering, she’s been lying hopefully at his feet, staring up at him, waiting for her treat. “Sorry, girl.” He wishes David would pick a name before they end up a dog named ‘Dog’ or some other cliche. He gives her a treat and snaps a photo as she smiles up at him. He’s been sending candid photos to Alexis since they got the dog since David insists on only sending artistically posed shots. </p>
<p><strong>Patrick: </strong>She’s a good girl<br/><strong>Alexis: </strong>Look at her face. I’ll have to show Ted</p>
<p>Ted is always up for a good animal photo. He’ll probably text to tell them that the dog is pawsome or furbulous. <em>Wait. What?</em> He hasn’t seen Ted since he moved to the Galapagos five years ago. And, as far as he knows, neither has Alexis. </p>
<p><strong>Patrick </strong>What did you just say?<br/><strong>Alexis </strong>Can we pretend I didn’t say anything?</p>
<p>She texts him again before he can respond.</p>
<p><strong>Alexis </strong>Fine. But you can’t tell David yet. Ted’s been in New York for a few months and we’ve been seeing each other again<br/><strong>Patrick </strong>I’m really happy for you<br/><strong>Alexis </strong>Me too</p>
<p>Alexis and Ted. When was the last time Alexis had mentioned that she was seeing someone? There had been Chet or was it Chad? He’d been an executive producer on the Crows movies. That had been four years ago. And Zane, a bicycle courier who modelled in his spare time. And last Christmas, Alexis had arrived with Dylan, a hedge fund manager she’d met at a bar. David had worried that might be serious, but by mid-January, Alexis had never mentioned him again.</p>
<p>Ted and Alexis. He hopes it works out for them this time, Ted had made Alexis happy in that undefinable way that marks relationships in the Rose family. With a sigh, he shakes his head, turning back to his laptop. As much as he wants to distract himself with the dog all day, he needs to call their vendors to reschedule. He opens the database on the computer to look up the first number. Wait. Maybe there’s another option. He picks up his phone and pulls up a number from his contact list instead.</p>
<p>“Hi honey.”</p>
<p>“Mom? Are you busy?”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, he’s giving his mom instructions on how to use the cash register and what to do if Roland comes into the store. Ignoring his carefully prepared procedures binder, his mom pats him on the cheek and practically pushes him out the door. </p>
<p>In the car, he puts on the playlist he likes when he’s driving alone and he doesn’t have to curate his selections for David. He cracks the window on the passenger side and the dog stretches her nose to the gap, making happy snuffling noises as the wind rushes into the car. On the highway, he turns up the volume so it’s almost loud enough to make the windows shake.</p>
<p>
  <em>...country roads, take me home…</em>
</p>
<p>He sing-yells the words to the John Denver classic. It reminds him of summer barbeques and parties with his extended family where someone would bring a guitar and everyone would sing along. David’s tolerance for John Denver is very low, so Patrick saves him for these occasions when he’s alone in the car. The dog gives a startled ‘woof’ as he sings, pulling her nose from the open window long enough to look at him accusingly. He breaks off mid-verse. “Everyone’s a critic.”</p>
<p>
  <em>...to the place I belong...</em>
</p>
<p>“A-wooooo.” The dog joins in with an exuberant howl. </p>
<p>“You don’t sound so great yourself, you know.” By the time he pulls up at Mrs Patel’s farm, he and the dog have made it through three more of John Denver’s greatest hits. He shuts off the music as he turns off the highway at the cheerful red and white vegetable stand that stands at the end of the driveway. </p>
<p>Mrs Patel hurries out of the house as he parks the car in her driveway. She’s one of their original vendors and she insists on giving him a hug almost before he’s closed the car door. The dog bounces across to the driver’s seat, resting her paws on the armrest and giving a small bark.</p>
<p>“Who is this?” Letting him go, Mrs Patel steps up to the window, putting her fingers to the open gap for the dog to sniff. As always, her slight frame moves with a precise elegance, she smiles as the dog licks her fingers.</p>
<p>“We just got her, David is still working on a name.”</p>
<p>Mrs Patel nods, her straight black bob shining in the bright sunshine. “The right name is important. It took me three weeks to find the right name for Prisha. My boys were easy but she rejected every name I gave her. David will find the right name.” </p>
<p>It never fails to amaze him how much their vendors adore David. They like him by proxy, but he’s not under any illusions that of the two of them, it’s David that they value most. Within half an hour of meeting David for the first time, Mrs Patel had told David the story of her parents’ journey to Canada from India when she was two years old. David has charmed their vendors for years, creating a loyalty built around his love of their products and they love him for it, sharing details of their lives that they never do with Patrick.</p>
<p>Mrs Patel hands him a box of her herbal infused oils and follows him to the car with the second box. He slides each one into the back of the Subaru. As he closes the hatch, Mrs Patel pulls a small bottle out of her pocket. “For David. A special blend he asked for.” The bottle is unmarked and the tips of his ears grow hot beneath her knowing gaze.</p>
<p>“Ah, thanks.” They’d run out of their favorite massage oil a week ago and David had promised him something different to replace it. He hugs Mrs Patel goodbye and places the bottle carefully into the cup holder.</p>
<p>Back in the car, he and the dog sing their way through the rest of John Denver and visit another half a dozen vendors. They’re almost home and on the second verse of Sunshine on My Shoulders when the dog curls up on the front seat and falls asleep. He checks the time. 12:45. If he hurries, it’s just enough time to drop the dog and the boxes at the store and still make it to the ball field for the game.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint gets to the ball field an hour before game time. He sits alone on the bleachers, the ball diamond stretching out in front of him, memories of previous moments just like this one floating through his mind. He’d coached Patrick’s Little League team for years. Win or lose, he’d been so proud of Patrick, of all the kids, during the games. He checks his watch. Forty-five minutes to go. He gets up and wanders around the infield, sending up puffs of dust as he kicks at the gravel. When he was five, Patrick had thrown himself to the ground, ducking to avoid the first hit to the outfield. At seven, he’d sprained his ankle sliding into second base. So much has changed for both of them over the past thirty years but baseball has always brought them together. </p>
<p>He’s standing at home plate when Twyla arrives fifteen minutes later, boxes of uniforms and equipment stuffed into her ten-year-old minivan. Together they unload them onto the rough wooden player’s benches behind the chain link backstop, laying out the gloves and uniforms for the kids.</p>
<p>“Have you seen Patrick?” Twyla shakes her head as the first group of kids approaches the bench. She checks them off on her clipboard before handing a t-shirt and a glove to each one. The kids pull on the shirts and chatter excitedly about the gloves, milling around in an increasingly sizable group that spills out onto the field.</p>
<p>“I’m sure he’ll be here”. Twyla smiles, as relaxed as always. “My aunt’s second cousin was hit by lightning after he showed up early to a Barry Manilow concert and now my entire family never goes anywhere on time.”</p>
<p>Clint decides not to point out that Twyla was early this afternoon. Patrick is never late. A thread of worry rises inside him as he hands out more shirts and gloves. By five minutes to four, all the kids have arrived, but there’s still no sign of Patrick. </p>
<p>His worry gives way to anger. It’s irresponsible for Patrick to be late like this. These kids are relying on him and he can’t even show up on time. What kind of example does that set? Clint checks the time again. “Maybe I should just...start things off?”</p>
<p>Twyla frowns but she doesn’t argue, he gathers the kids together at home plate and takes them through the rules before breaking them into teams and getting them started with some simple warm-ups. He turns to take his clipboard back to the bench. Patrick leans against the chain link fence, his arms crossed over his Cafe Tropicale uniform.</p>
<p>“So you finally showed up.” His voice is sharp; he’s angrier than he expected. “Were you going to let those kids down?”</p>
<p>Patrick’s eyes narrow. “I had to drop the dog off at the store. And I’ve been here since you started, so you could have waited.”</p>
<p>Patrick’s words bring him up short. Marcy’s right, he’s different from before. A younger Patrick would never have pushed back like this. Anger lurks behind Patrick’s eyes before they flick over his shoulder. “The kids are waiting, you’d better get them started on their game.”</p>
<p>Patrick pushes himself off the fence and goes to organize the equipment for the team he’ll be coaching, leaving Clint staring after him. He calls the kids in from the field, an uneasy lump in his stomach. Patrick and Twyla gather their teams together and Patrick talks the kids through the plays for the game. Clint takes a seat on the rickety stands with a handful of parents sitting behind home plate as the kids cheer and take their positions on the field. </p>
<p>Patrick’s always been one to smooth things over, to make everyone happy. Not someone who lets his anger show. Maybe he doesn’t know his son as well as he thinks? Or has Patrick changed so much? </p>
<p>He shouldn’t have just taken over. But Patrick was late. On the field, one of the kids from Patrick’s team hits the ball to left field and Patrick yells for her to run for second. Patrick’s an adult. He can make and fix his own mistakes. Why had he stepped in so quickly? The girl from Patrick’s team is safe at second and the next batter hits the ball to right field where it drops between the center and right fielders and the girl on second base makes a break for home. Clint rises to his feet as she crosses home plate, to his left Patrick is jumping up and down, as excited as any of the kids.</p>
<p>In the end, Twyla’s team wins by one run and they send the kids home laughing and smiling. He and Patrick help Twyla pack up the gear into her van, an unhappy stiffness between them. Oblivious to any tension, Twyla bids them a cheery farewell, leaving them standing on the grass beside Patrick’s car. </p>
<p>Patrick crosses his arms and leans back against the car door. Clint clears his throat. “Look, I’m sorry. About earlier. I was out of line.”</p>
<p>The words break the ice and Patrick’s shoulders drop slightly. “It’s fine. I overreacted.” Patrick rubs the back of his neck. “I was mad because I was running late.”</p>
<p>Patrick is being generous. But he doesn’t want to rehash the day any more than Patrick does. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick echoes him and the silence grows. Has it always been this awkward between them? “I’m, uh, going to get going…” </p>
<p>“Do you want to get a drink or something?” He can’t leave things like this. </p>
<p>Patrick smiles, bright and sure. “The options are limited, but if you want to brave The Wobbly Elm, I wouldn’t say no.”</p>
<p>Not surprisingly, the bar is less than a five-minute drive away. The outside of the building is drab and worn, the type of place that hasn’t been upgraded since it opened, if not before then. The two of them climb the uneven steps together, the door creaks when they open it and a swell of 70s rock music greets them. </p>
<p>It’s early, so if a crowd were to show up, it would be later. Or this might be as good as it gets, with a couple of regulars at the bar and an uncertain-looking group of young people sitting at a table behind the pool tables. Patrick stops at the bar to order two beers before leading them to a table to the right of the door.</p>
<p>Clint takes a seat in one of the ratty chairs. It wobbles and he braces his foot against the table to hold it steady. “So, the kids had fun today.”</p>
<p>Patrick takes a drink of his beer. “They did.” Patrick may have shrugged off his apology earlier, but he’s going to make Clint work for this conversation.</p>
<p>A thought that’s been circling in his subconscious comes to the surface. “Did you say that Twyla paid for all the equipment?” He’d suggested getting sponsorships for the teams but Patrick had said that Twyla had it covered.</p>
<p>Patrick picks at the label of the beer bottle. “Yeah, she did.”</p>
<p>“On a waitress’s salary? And you just let her do that?” Patrick’s hands freeze on his beer bottle. How could Patrick just take advantage of Twyla? Surely he’d raised him to be better than that?</p>
<p>“It’s more complicated than you know.” Patrick leans back in his chair, the feet scrape on the uneven floor. “And that’s all I can tell you without breaking her confidence.”</p>
<p>“Patrick.” The voice coming from behind him is almost a purr. He twists in his chair, Jake stands behind him. Clint’s face gets hot and he’s grateful for the dim lighting in the bar. Hopefully Jake won’t say anything inappropriate about the woodworking class the other night. “You look good. I haven’t seen you and David around for a while.” Bracing one hand on Patrick’s shoulder, Jake bends his lanky frame to kiss Patrick on the lips. The noise in the bar fades away. A blush paints his son’s cheeks bright red. </p>
<p>What—? </p>
<p>How—? </p>
<p>What?  </p>
<p>His chest tightens as he struggles to breathe. Why is this man kissing his happily married son in a public place? Patrick shifts in his seat. “Jake. Have you met my dad?” </p>
<p>“Clint. Sorry we didn’t get to know each other better the other night.” Patrick’s eyes get wide and then he cringes. His cascading thoughts screech to a halt. Wait. What does Patrick know about Jake’s woodworking classes? “You know, I’m having some people over this weekend for drinks, if you two are interested?” Jake points back and forth between both of them. “And David, too.”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so. We’re, uh, we’re pretty busy.” Patrick is looking everywhere but at Clint. Even in the poor lighting, the tips of his ears are bright red.</p>
<p>“You do you.” Jake’s hand drops to Patrick’s shoulder and he squeezes gently. “Maybe next time. And you, too.” His gaze transfers to Clint’s before he steps away to the bar. He wraps both hands around his beer bottle, unable to lift his eyes from the scarred tabletop.</p>
<p>“So you’ve met Jake.” Patrick’s voice is strangled. The label on his beer bottle is in tatters. He rolls a piece of the label into a tiny ball with his fingers, his eyes riveted to the bottle as though he might miss something important if he looks away. </p>
<p>“Yes. Yes, I have.” He meets Patrick’s eyes, heat rises in his cheeks, matching the flush on Patrick’s face. He drops his eyes, unable to sustain his gaze in the face of what’s happened.</p>
<p>“Well, good. That’s good.” Patrick tears another strip off the label and Clint tightens his grip around his own bottle, certain that if nothing else, he never wants to talk about this again.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Marcy hears David and Stevie come in through the back door of the store, their voices floating out to greet her. “...well, it can’t be as bad as the ceiling mirror when we slept together…” </p>
<p>“...or that time last year with Jake…” </p>
<p>At the sound of David’s voice, the dog lifts her head from her bed just inside the store room door before leaping towards the rear of the store to greet them. Marcy freezes in place at the front counter, her mind racing through the implications of David’s comment. David has a history with Stevie but who is Jake? And last year? She pastes on a smile as the two of them come into the main room of the store. </p>
<p>“Marcy!” Surprise written across his face, David glances sideways at Stevie. “Where’s Monique?” The dog circles between David’s feet. “Beyonce, sit.” The dog ignores him, dancing in place until he bends down and scoops her up.</p>
<p>“Patrick said she couldn’t make it. So he asked if I’d mind covering for her.” Her mind races. Who’s Jake? David had certainly implied that he’d slept with him recently. Maybe she misheard. Stevie and David are oblivious to her fractured thoughts, their attention focused on the dog in David’s arms.</p>
<p>“Beyonce?” A broad smile creases Stevie’s face. “So you’ve decided on a name?” She scratches the dog’s ears, the dog licks her hand enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“Obviously not. She didn’t even react.” Marcy stifles a laugh at David’s annoyance with the dog’s inability to instantly adopt a perfectly good name. </p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s how it works.” </p>
<p>David’s always been open about the people he’d dated before Patrick. Maybe she’d misheard. No. She’s sure David had said last year. Does Patrick know? If David is che— No. She can’t even go there.</p>
<p>David sets the dog back down on the floor and walks through the store towards the counter. He stops short halfway along, staring at the bottles of essential oils that she’d added to the display on the counter. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I put out some of the new products Patrick brought back. He said they were all in the system.” </p>
<p>“Nooo. That’s fine.” David flashes her an enormous smile. He carefully pushes one bottle into alignment with the others, quickly straightening them so the labels face outwards.  </p>
<p>David fusses with the bottles, reordering them on the shelf. How could this man who so clearly adores her son would ever be tempted by anyone else? She tries to pull the exact words out of her memory, but all that comes is the impression that David was sleeping with someone named Jake. Like a reflection in a window, it’s too indistinct for her to grasp onto. She should just ask David. David has always been an open book. If they’d been alone, she might have taken the chance. But Stevie is here, laughing to herself as David rearranges the new products into yet another configuration. It will have to wait. Just then, the front door opens and a group of middle-aged women spill into the store.</p>
<p>“Welcome to Rose Apothecary, can I help you?” She and David speak simultaneously, causing the women to look back and forth between them like spectators at a tennis match. </p>
<p>“Do you have any souvenirs?” The leader of the group is in her late 40s. She’s carrying an oversized black and white leather handbag and she’s wearing a t-shirt with the Sunrise Bay logo emblazoned on the front. Marcy darts a glance at David. How will he handle his mom’s fans?</p>
<p>“We have a selection of perfectly curated, locally made products that would make ideal gifts for anyone with taste.” </p>
<p>The woman is shaking her head before David has finished speaking. “No souvenirs? T-shirts that say ‘Schitt’s Creek: Home of Television’s Moira Rose?’ Or key chains?”</p>
<p>“Little models of the motel?” Another of the women offers from the back of the group.</p>
<p>“Snow globes?” Another voice pipes up. “I want one for my collection.”</p>
<p>David’s face twists in horror and Marcy bites down hard on her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Stevie’s face is flushed, her eyes round as she struggles to keep a straight face. For possibly the first time, David is at a loss for words. He gestures in the air in front of his face, his eyes wide.</p>
<p>Taking pity on him, she responds to the women. “I’m sorry, we don’t carry anything like that.”</p>
<p>“You should. I bet you’d sell loads of them.” The women leave before any of them can sell them so much as a package of breath mints.</p>
<p>“What just happened?” David breathes out the words. “What do they think this is, a highway gas station? Or one of those vans that sells stuff on the side of the road?” Marcy’s giggles escape her, Stevie joins in and their laughter overtakes the sound of David’s outrage. She’s wheezing, bent over her aching stomach. Wiping her eyes, she straightens up and the dog bounces over to her, concerned, before she sits in front of her and gives a single ‘woof’. </p>
<p>“Okay, if you two are quite finished.” She swallows the last of her giggles into an undignified hiccup, avoiding David’s face for fear his outraged look will set her off again. </p>
<p>“Maybe I should get some snow globes for the motel.” Even from across the store, there’s an obvious gleam in Stevie’s eye. She can’t start laughing again. <em>Twelve times twenty is two hundred and forty. Thirteen times twenty…</em></p>
<p>“If you wanted tacky merchandise, you shouldn’t have signed an exclusivity deal with us.” </p>
<p>“What if I’ve had a change of heart now that I know there are better options?” David’s face cascades through a range of emotions before settling on disgusted.</p>
<p>“Ugh. I think it’s past time for you to leave.” David practically pushes Stevie towards the door, the dog dances gleefully at their feet. </p>
<p>Marcy checks the time. It’s almost five o’clock. Clint will be done with the baseball game soon and she has just enough time to get home for supper before she heads out to her second Women’s Business Association meeting at Ronnie’s. She gives David a hug as she leaves, pushing all thoughts of the conversation she’d overheard to one side, confident she must have been mistaken. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David locks the front door of the store and puts the leash on the dog. “Come, Reese.” As usual, she ignores him as she snuffles along near the front door. It’s only been a week, but the dog has learned the route between home and the store. She runs to the end of the lead, her tail wagging as she sniffs at every clump of grass and at the base of every tree. David follows behind, letting her set the pace.</p>
<p>It’s well after six o’clock when he gets home, but their car isn’t in the driveway and there’s no sign of Patrick. In the kitchen, he pours a glass of wine and takes the bag of artisan, kettle-cooked potato chips from the back of the cupboard where Patrick hides them. He pours kibble into the dog’s dish, she munches happily so he carries the wine and the chips into the living room.</p>
<p>Making sure both the wine glass and the snacks are in easy reach, he curls up on the sofa and Facetimes his sister.</p>
<p>“David!” Alexis beams at him over the tiny screen. She’s in her apartment, right where she’s supposed to be. Not on a tropical island or a yacht or a foreign prison. His face crinkles in response to her smile. “I just walked past your old gallery this afternoon and it’s a Starbucks now. Can you imagine?”</p>
<p>Once, news about his old gallery would bring back a flood of nostalgia, but now it’s like the gallery belonged to a completely different person. “Well, you’ll never guess what happened to me today. I was verbally assaulted by a group of women who wanted souvenirs with Mom’s face on them.”</p>
<p>A calculating look crosses his sister’s face. “You know David, fan merchandise is big business.” </p>
<p>“I’m not selling tacky key chains and snow globes at the store!” He’s worked too long and hard to build an aesthetic that extends across their physical and online stores to tarnish it with plastic mass-produced products with ‘Made in China’ stamped on the back. </p>
<p>“Of course not at your store. Just something to think about is all.” </p>
<p>“Hmmpf.” The dog’s nails click on the hardwood and seconds later she jumps up on the couch beside him, nestling into his chest.  </p>
<p>“Oh, look at her cute liddle face.” Alexis boops the screen of the phone as though the dog might notice.</p>
<p>“Ignore her.” David directs the words to the dog. “We’re not doing baby talk.” He’s been very clear that the dog should be conversed with like an adult and that baby talk is unacceptable.</p>
<p>“Have you decided on a name, then?” </p>
<p>David rolls his eyes at her. In the background, her pink robe hangs on the bedroom door beside a brown plaid robe. It’s vaguely familiar. He eyes it carefully through the small screen. “Do you have company?”</p>
<p>Alexis stills for a split second. If she wasn’t his sister, he would have missed it. “Of course not.” When Alexis had first gone back to New York, he’d worried that she’d fall back into her old ways, chasing inappropriate men and partying too hard. Instead, it’s almost been the opposite. Alexis has dated a few guys but never seriously and never for very long. </p>
<p>He tries to peer into the tiny screen at the robe better. “So you’re collecting men’s robes, then?”</p>
<p>Alexis flips her hair at him as she looks behind her. “Patrick told you, didn’t he?”</p>
<p>“Told me what? I haven’t seen Patrick all day.” Longing for his husband washes through him. He pushes it away. It’s ridiculous to miss someone he spends nearly every waking hour with just because they’ve been apart for eight hours. </p>
<p>“Ugh, David.” Alexis tilts her head up towards the ceiling. “It’s Ted’s, okay? He’s in New York and we’ve maybe been seeing each other.” </p>
<p>“You could have told me.” It’s not like Alexis to keep something like this a secret. If anything, she’s always shared too much information about her love life.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you now and I didn’t want to tell you before because I don’t know what’s going to happen and I didn’t want you and Patrick to get all excited.”</p>
<p>“No one’s getting excited.” The front door opens and with an exuberant ‘woof’ the dog launches herself off of the couch and races to the door making both him and Alexis laugh. “Tell Ted he’d better not break your heart again.”</p>
<p>“Whatever, David.” Alexis stretches out a finger towards the camera, giving him a virtual boop as they end the call. </p>
<p>Patrick’s hand caresses the back of his neck. He’s wearing his baseball costume and he flips the hat backwards before he bends to kiss David softly, the taste of beer and sunscreen and summer barbeques on his lips. “Was that Alexis?”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. Did you know about her and Ted?”</p>
<p>“She told me this morning.” Patrick cards his fingers through David’s hair, ignoring his noise of protest. He leans into it, closing his eyes and resting his head against Patrick’s hip as Patrick’s fingers scratch lightly on his scalp. The cheap polyester of his baseball pants is rough against his cheek. “She’ll be fine, she won’t let herself get hurt again.” Patrick’s fingers tease through his hair, attempting to straighten the damage he’s made. “I’m going to take a shower and then we can make supper?”</p>
<p>David finishes his wine and takes the empty glass and empty chip bowl back to the kitchen. The dog has followed Patrick upstairs and the kitchen is too quiet. He puts on his favourite playlist and ‘Always Be My Baby’ fills the air. He’s happily tearing up lettuce for a salad when Patrick’s arms slide around his waist.</p>
<p>“Are you listening to our song without me?” Patrick’s voice is low and rough and his skin smells like citrus and mint. David tilts his head as Patrick nuzzles at his ear, humming as Patrick’s lips find his neck.</p>
<p>“Only because I missed you today.” He turns in Patrick’s arms, his husband pulls him close for a kiss. He runs his hands along Patrick’s shoulders, his worn cotton t-shirt is soft beneath his fingers. </p>
<p>“Me too.” Patrick sighs and rests his forehead on David’s shoulder. His hands find the back of Patrick’s neck, rubbing and soothing the knots.</p>
<p>“How was the baseball?” Usually sports rev Patrick up, but he’s subdued this evening. He digs his fingers into a tight knot in the middle of Patrick’s right shoulder and he hisses. </p>
<p>“The kids had fun at least.” Patrick’s fingers flex on his hips. He’s holding something back.</p>
<p>“But?” He pushes, Patrick needs encouragement before he’ll talk about what’s going on.</p>
<p>“But I got into it with my dad and then we went to The Wobbly Elm and ran into Jake.” The part about Clint isn’t entirely unexpected, Patrick has been uneasy about having Clint and Marcy so close, but Jake is a different matter. </p>
<p>“Oh.” Going to Jake’s is an occasional thing, but Jake has never been good at observing boundaries in public. </p>
<p>“Yeah. He kissed me. In front of my dad.” Patrick snuggles a little closer. David obliges his unspoken request by working his fingers along the top of Patrick’s shoulder blades, erasing the tension there. “There’s a non-zero chance we might have to answer some very awkward questions about our sex life.”</p>
<p>No. Patrick’s dad would never— “Surely your dad won’t bring that up?”</p>
<p>“Any possibility is too much of a possibility.” Patrick rolls his neck in search of David’s fingers. “How was your day?”</p>
<p>David indulges him, digging his fingers in deeper as Patrick groans. “I had a very traumatic experience with some women who thought we sold souvenirs.” </p>
<p>“Oh no, did they not get your vision, baby?” The usual spark is back in Patrick’s eyes, making his teasing worth it.</p>
<p>“And here I thought you were enjoying your free neck massage.” He pulls his hands away and Patrick whines. He slides them into Patrick’s hair instead, scratching gently at his scalp as the soft strands run slide through his fingers. “I think we should see if Monique can do more days at the store.” Patrick doesn’t respond right away, he simply presses back into David’s hands. “I missed you today and I’ve hardly seen you all week. It was nice of your mom to fill in, but she was merchandising the products.” </p>
<p>“We can’t have that.” The corners of Patrick’s mouth twitch upwards as he teases. “What if she puts something in the wrong section of the store? Or if she doesn’t line the labels up properly? Or she organizes things alphabetically instead of by scent profile?”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” He expects Patrick to counter with talk about spreadsheets or budget projections but he just nods as David drops his hands back to his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I’ll call her in the morning.” </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint is putting the finishing touches on the lasagna when Marcy comes in the door. She gives him a quick kiss hello and takes a sip of the wine he’s poured for her. His shoulders are set and square. Something is bothering him. “How was the game?”</p>
<p>He slides the lasagna into the oven and joins her at the dining table, his own glass in hand. “It went really well, the kids had fun.” He pulls out the chair across from hers and sinks into it, his long fingers straightening the placemat so it’s square with the edge of the table. It’s a nervous habit that he’s passed on to their son. On their first date, Clint had been the tall, good-looking baseball player, far too cool for someone like herself. But as he’d laughed and joked with practiced ease, his fingers told a different story, repeatedly straightening the paper placemat and the cutlery in the pizza place. He’s fidgeting anxiously now, lines drawn on his face.</p>
<p>“And?” She has to ask, he won’t volunteer the information otherwise. </p>
<p>“And I messed things up with Patrick.” He grimaces, reaching for the glass of wine. “I forgot that he’s a grown-up and I kind of stepped all over him.”</p>
<p>Marcy winces. Her own ability to keep from interfering in Patrick’s life hasn’t been as smooth as it could be. “How did he take it?”</p>
<p>“He was mad. And he told me he was mad.” Once again, she’s struck by how much Patrick has changed. He’d always been the one to smooth things over or brush things off. “And then we went to The Wobbly Elm and things got weird.” Is her husband of almost forty years blushing? Marcy tilts her head at him and he clears his throat. “Remember I told you about the woodworking class?” Clint puts air quotes around the word ‘woodworking’ as though she might have forgotten. “Jake was at the bar, he was very, uh, friendly.”</p>
<p>“Like how friendly?” Everyone in this town is friendly, even Ronnie, when she wants to be.</p>
<p>“Like ‘kissing Patrick on the mouth’ friendly.” Oh. <em>Oh.</em></p>
<p>“Wait, did you say Jake?” Clint nods, a questioning frown on his face. “David said something today…” David and Jake. Patrick and Jake. Patrick and David and Jake. “No. Nope. You know what, on second thought I think that’s more information than I want to know about our son’s sex life.” This wasn’t what she’d anticipated when she’d wanted to be part of Patrick’s new life. Whatever he and David and Jake are doing together or separately is way more than she needs to know.</p>
<p>Clint grimaces, nodding vigorously. “Agreed.”</p>
<p>After dinner she arrives on Ronnie’s doorstep the same way she had the time before, wine in hand, but less nervous than the last time. Ronnie’s girlfriend Dulce opens the door when she rings the bell. “Marcy, c’mon in.”</p>
<p>The room is about half full, women cluster together in twos and threes. Marcy trades her bottle of wine for a full glass. More of the people are familiar this time. Ronnie’s laugh rings out from the back corner of the room and Stevie and Twyla wave from their places on the sofa. She’s about to join them when a soft hand on her arm stops her. </p>
<p>“You are Marcy, yes?” Marcy isn’t a tall woman, but the woman beside her is tiny, her head just comes up to Marcy’s shoulder. Despite her small size, she carries herself with a confidence that Marcy envies. Her gaze is direct and forthright as she holds out her hand.</p>
<p>“I am.” She’s still getting used to the idea that people here recognize her just because she’s the only unfamiliar face in the room.</p>
<p>“I am Priya Patel.” Like most of the other women in the room, Priya is wearing jeans and a white cotton blouse, a long patterned scarf in bright blue is draped around her shoulder in a traditional style. “Ronnie suggested you might be able to help me.”</p>
<p>“Knowing Ronnie, it’s more of a demand than a suggestion.” The cheeky words escape before she can consider how the other woman will take them. </p>
<p>The other woman laughs, her eyes flashing, making Marcy sigh with relief. “This is true. Ronnie is not one for asking.”</p>
<p>“That is a beautiful scarf.” Draped around Priya’s shoulders, it reaches almost to her knees.</p>
<p>“Thank you. It is called a dupatta. It was my grandmother’s.” Priya chuckles again. “She would be horrified if she saw me wearing it with jeans.”</p>
<p>“I never saw my grandmother in anything other than a skirt, so perhaps our grandmothers are cut from the same cloth.” Marcy giggles at the unintended pun. She nods towards a pair of empty chairs on the other side of the room. “Do you want to join me?” Stepping carefully through the assembled crowd, they pull the chairs closer together, tucking them into a corner away from the other people. </p>
<p>Priya leans forward, her wine glass in one hand. “My husband and I have a small farm. He sells fruits and vegetables and I grow flowers and herbs and make essential oils.”</p>
<p>Something familiar nudges at the back of Marcy’s mind and she recalls the products she’d unpacked at the store that morning. “Wait. Do you supply Rose Apothecary?”</p>
<p>Priya nods. “I’ve been with them since the beginning. David and Patrick have been very good to me. And more than that, they’re very good at selling my products.” She laughs again and Marcy joins in.</p>
<p>“Patrick is my son.” She’s proud of Patrick but if Priya has a problem with Rose Apothecary, she doesn’t want to get involved.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad I do not have bad things to say about him.” Priya smiles with a subtle teasing that Marcy likes. “Here is my problem. My business manager quit suddenly last month and we learned she left everything in somewhat of a mess. I need to find someone new, but I do not know where to begin.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure—” She wants to help Priya, but she’s not looking for a job.</p>
<p>“No, no. I don’t want you to be my business manager.” Priya rushes to reassure her. “I need someone I can trust to help me figure out what I need to do and uncover any problems.” </p>
<p>That sounds more reasonable, she’s done similar work for clients in the past. But Priya is moving awfully quickly. “We only just met.”</p>
<p>“Ronnie trusts you.” Priya nods firmly, her words incontrovertible. “And if Patrick is your son, that’s all the extra assurance I need.” </p>
<p>It’s a lot, to be trusted because of the people you know. Still, Ronnie wouldn’t have suggested her to Priya if she didn’t think Marcy could help. “In that case, I’d be happy to take a look.”</p>
<p>As though her thoughts have summoned her, Ronnie comes up between them. “Did you two get everything figured out?” She leans on the back of Marcy’s chair, giving them both a sharp nod.</p>
<p>Priya looks up at Ronnie. “Marcy has agreed to look at my problem, yes.” </p>
<p>“Good. I’ll take you both off my list.” Ronnie makes her way to the front of the room, tapping on her wine glass to get everyone’s attention. Marcy shakes her head and smiles to herself as Ronnie calls the meeting to order. She’s sure that people like Roland and Bob think they run things in Schitt’s Creek, but there’s no question in her mind who holds the real power. As before, Ronnie presents problems and accepts offers of help like a field marshall, working her list with ruthless efficiency. </p>
<p>Afterwards, Marcy stays to help Ronnie and Dulce clean up and put away the chairs. She brings a stack of dishes into the kitchen where Ronnie is loading the dishwasher. “So was I right?” Ronnie takes the top plate from the pile and puts it into the bottom rack.</p>
<p>“Probably, but about what?” Ronnie, like Patrick, doesn’t like to be told she’s wrong.</p>
<p>“That you’d be able to help someone here.” Ronnie is matter-of-fact, like it’s obvious. She picks up the next plates on the pile.</p>
<p>Marcy empties a few half-full glasses into the sink. “Well, I haven’t done anything yet.”</p>
<p>“You will.” Ronnie’s tone doesn’t broker any argument, not that Marcy is going to give her one. </p>
<p>Marcy chuckles and turns to leave, stopping in the doorway. “Can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>“Sure.” Ronnie puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, closing the door. </p>
<p>“What’s the problem you have with Patrick? Is there something I should know about?” She’s never known anyone to dislike Patrick before but the animosity between him and Ronnie is clear. What’s happened between them that’s so egregious that Patrick hasn’t been able to make things right? Is it serious? She likes Ronnie, she’d hate to have to choose between a new friend and her son.</p>
<p>Ronnie stands up, her hands on her hips as she eyes Marcy carefully. “Patrick likes to be liked.” She draws out the words, letting each one fill the space. “I think it’s important that he learns that not everyone does.” She pauses for a moment. “Besides, he’s a cocky little shit and it just gets under my skin.”</p>
<p>“Hey, that’s my son you’re talking about.” It’s a mild protest, a token more than anything. Patrick has always been confident, even when he’s in the wrong. Sometimes he pretends, but he’s never been one to easily admit when he’s made a mistake. </p>
<p>Ronnie laughs. “Are you saying I’m wrong?”</p>
<p>Marcy grins and shakes her head in response. It’s possible, maybe even probable, that Ronnie sees Patrick more clearly than she does. “No, not at all.”</p>
<p>Ronnie’s not done. She meets Marcy’s eyes squarely and unapologetically. “I may not like him, but he’s still one of us.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David’s long arms wrap around him like a mutant sloth-koala hybrid, but that’s a familiar feeling and not what brings Patrick awake. It’s the small furry body wiggling in the bed next to him that makes him crack open his eyes. The dog looks back at him gleefully, her black eyes laughing excitedly at him. </p>
<p>“You’re not supposed to be on the bed.” He whispers the words, not wanting to wake his sleeping husband. David’s left arm tightens around him and the dog wags her tail even harder. It’s Saturday, so Monique has the store. He closes his eyes. If he ignores the dog maybe he can get a few more minutes of sleep.</p>
<p>“Rruff.” It’s not quite a bark, but David shifts against him. He frees his hand far enough to scratch the dog’s ears and she butts her head against his hand eagerly.</p>
<p>“Okay, fine.” He tries to slide out of bed, but David refuses to let him go, one long leg slides over his hips, pinning him to the bed.</p>
<p>“Noooo.” David’s grip gets even tighter, his breath is hot on the back of Patrick’s neck. </p>
<p>“I have to let the dog out.” David makes an incoherent but distinctly negative sound. “I’ll bring you coffee.” </p>
<p>“Mmmpf.” David releases his hold, his arms disappearing beneath the blankets. Patrick rolls over and tugs down the bedspread far enough to kiss David’s temple. </p>
<p>“Be back soon.” The hardwood is cool beneath his feet. Sun streams in through the window and the dog bounds happily towards the stairs, her nails making a clicking sound as she dashes down the hall. </p>
<p>Downstairs, he opens the back door and the dog races past him into the backyard. She patrols the garden eagerly, on alert for any intruding squirrels. Her presence in the garden has solved his squirrel problem, his tomatoes are finally growing in peace. He starts David’s coffee and opens the windows above the sink to let in the warm breeze. While the espresso machine warms up, he opens his laptop and makes his list for the day.</p>
<p>He should call Monique first thing to see what arrangement they can work out to increase her hours. It’s past time they had more help and with the revenue coming in from the online sales and the arrangement with the Rosebud, they can definitely afford it. He updates his list from the day before, crossing off the vendor pickups and adding the monthly sales report. There’s a soft woof at the door and he gets up to let the dog in, adding kibble to her empty dish. He pours the coffee into a mug as the soft pad of David’s footsteps sounds on the stairs.</p>
<p>David has pulled a fuzzy mohair sweater over his t-shirt. He drapes his arms over Patrick’s shoulders, pulling Patrick back against his chest. It’s like being hugged by an athletic teddy bear. “I would have brought up your coffee.” He tilts his head back to kiss David’s cheek. David responds with an enormous yawn.</p>
<p>“Was taking too long.” His nose nuzzles at Patrick’s neck. David’s voice is soft and sleepy, his body relaxed against Patrick’s. He leans back into his husband, David’s lips press a gentle kiss at the open collar of his shirt.</p>
<p>“It only seems that way because you’re usually asleep when I make it.” David hums in his ear, the soft sound turns into a yelp as David pulls away and looks down accusingly.</p>
<p>“That is not okay.” The dog pulls her presumably cold nose away from David’s ankles and grins up at them, her tail wagging happily before she turns and pounces on her stuffed narwhal, tackling it onto her bed by the door.</p>
<p>“She’s trying to tell you she wants you to give her a name.” David’s been taking his time, but at some point they will actually have to make a decision.</p>
<p>“I’ve been considering all the options.” One of David’s hands comes free from his shoulder to wave near his face.</p>
<p>“So you’ve decided on a name, then?” </p>
<p>“You’re very impatient.” David huffs as he releases him to add the sweetener and cocoa powder to his coffee. He shivers, a chill creeps across his shoulders without David’s body heat to warm him. “The wrong name sends the wrong message—” David breaks off as he points at the dog. “Besides, her name is Mariah.” David’s right. It’s the perfect name. “Mariah!” The dog lifts her head as David calls her. </p>
<p>“Woof.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Incident</h2></a>
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<p>David’s humming creeps under Patrick’s skin as his husband packs his suitcase. It’s the sound of a hundred starving mosquitos circling their next meal, a near tuneless droning that makes his skin tight across the shoulders. He leans against the door of David’s walk-in closet and grits his teeth as David folds another sweater, setting it gently in his bag. </p>
<p>He’s being unreasonable. He holds back the sharp words that are welling inside; if he speaks they will wound instead of tease. He wrestles them into submission, not wanting to start something they won’t finish for five days. Is it possible to miss someone before they’ve even left? Before they’ve kissed you and maybe more and teased you in your private love language? He represses the urge to stomp his feet in frustration. They’ve barely seen each other all week, is the thing, and now David is leaving on a road trip with Stevie to some of the outlying motels. </p>
<p>He wants to go with them. But he doesn’t want to intrude. David needs this time alone with Stevie and he doesn’t want to interfere. And David usually comes back from his time with Stevie, whether it’s been two hours or two days, relaxed and all too happy to show Patrick how much he missed him. So he doesn’t resent David’s time with Stevie. What he really resents is that Stevie gets to have five interrupted days with David when he and David have barely had five minutes together of late. At his feet, Mariah whines, announcing their presence. David looks up sharply. “How long have you been standing there?”</p>
<p>He shrugs and gives David his best smile. “A while.” </p>
<p>His best smile isn’t good enough. David’s eyes narrow and he puts down the sweater. “Everything okay?”</p>
<p>He shrugs again, fighting the words that seem determined to squeeze past his lips, stopping himself from saying ‘stay’ and ‘it’s not fair’ and ‘you’re selfish for leaving.’ He presses his mouth into a thin line, his jaw clenching. David’s long arms fold around his shoulders, pulling him in like a fish on a line until he’s tucked in beneath David’s chin. “I don’t have to go.” David’s words are soft in his ear.</p>
<p>He wants to agree; to guilt David into staying with him but he can’t quite bring himself to descend to that level of selfishness. “Don’t be silly.” </p>
<p>“For once, I don’t think I’m the one being silly.” David’s words are light, but they cut through him like a hot wire.</p>
<p>“You think I’m being childish?” His words have an edge to them and David’s eyes narrow again. His fingers stroke at Patrick’s shoulders attempting to soothe him and he shrugs them off, his eyes fixed on the floor. Mariah whines again, responding to the tone of his voice.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” There’s a snap in David’s voice and David won’t back down from this fight if that’s what Patrick wants. If he lets out the words that are churning inside him, David will meet him, blow for blow. They’ve always risen to the challenge each other has given, stepping up to see who can be quicker, sharper. This will be no different. It’s not what he wants but if he goes there, David will go with him. His shoulders drop and he shakes his head helplessly, unsure how to stop the fight he’s on the verge of starting. The annoyance that had been building on David’s face fades away replaced by a gentleness that David saves just for him. David puts his hands back on his shoulders and this time Patrick doesn’t shrug them away as David pulls him close. “I hate being away from you, too.”</p>
<p>David soothes him, pushing the spiky knot of feelings away. He tucks his face into the crook of David’s neck, losing himself in the run of David’s hands along his shoulders, his jealousy dissipating. Next time, he’ll make sure that they get away together, just the two of them. The stroke of David’s fingers along his back changes from reassuring to questioning and his hands fall to David’s hips, pulling him close. David’s breath is hot on his ear.</p>
<p>“I’ve got ten minutes, I can leave you with something to think about while I’m gone.” The words alone are enough to make him groan and throw his head back. David crowds against him, his larger frame holding him in place. A predatory smile spreads across his face. </p>
<p>“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” David is in full control but he still has to sass him. He teases his hands beneath David’s sweater, goosebumps follow his fingertips as he finds the ticklish spot on David’s sides. David slips his hand between them. Involuntarily, Patrick’s hips thrust towards him. </p>
<p>“Looks like my confidence isn’t misplaced.” David purrs the words in his ear. It’s the tone he uses when he wants to take Patrick apart and it runs down his spine like water, pooling deep in his belly. Patrick’s fingers tighten on David’s waist, steadying himself. With a quick flick of his fingers, David undoes the fastening on both their jeans, pushing them down and out of the way. He presses their hips together, his hand between them. </p>
<p>Patrick’s face flushes and his head thunks back against the doorframe. How is he this turned on by a fucking hand job? David twists his hand and it erases any further thoughts as he thrusts into David’s hand one last time, letting go with a muffled shout. David shudders against him, resting his forehead against his shoulder for a moment before stepping back and making quick work of cleaning them up. </p>
<p>His legs are wobbly and his fingers clench hard on the door frame to keep himself standing. He’s still panting when his phone vibrates in the pocket of his unzipped jeans. “Fuck.” He fumbles the phone out of his pocket, any lingering arousal evaporates when he sees his mom’s name on the display. “Oh god.” He clears his throat and tugs on his jeans. “Hi mom.” On the other side of the room, David smothers a laugh as he packs the last of his clothes into his suitcase.</p>
<p>“Patrick, honey.” Talking on the phone with his mom with his dick out and his jeans halfway down his thighs makes him squirm. “Do you have a minute?”</p>
<p>“Can you hang on one second?” His voice is thin and strangled and David snickers openly. He shoots him a glare and puts the phone down, pulling his clothes back into place. “What’s up?” He turns away so David’s laughter won’t distract him. The constricting fabric of his jeans is too tight, making him shift uncomfortably. He bites his cheek, hoping the sharp pressure will help him focus on his mom’s words. </p>
<p>“I think you know Priya Patel? Anyway, I’m helping her organize her business records. Her business manager just left with no notice. Can you imagine?” Patrick shakes his head. How on earth had his mom become friends with Mrs Patel? “Anyway, I’m a little rusty on the corporate filing dates and I thought you’d know.”</p>
<p>He sinks down onto the window seat and talks through his mom’s questions as David zips up his suitcase. Mariah hops up beside him and he runs his free hand over her silky ears as she cuddles against him. Across the room, David places his bag by the door, folding his extra clothes and putting them away on the shelves. Every time he passes by Patrick’s spot on the window seat, his hand finds Patrick’s shoulder, his fingers caressing softly. Whether from the hand job or David’s presence, his earlier edginess has receded, leaving only an echo of misplaced resentment behind.</p>
<p>“So her filing date would be six months after her year end. Thank you, honey.” Through the phone, there’s the gentle clicking of his mom typing notes into her laptop.</p>
<p>“No problem.” </p>
<p>David sits on the edge of the window seat beside him as he ends the call. Patrick shifts over to make room for him. “Good thing she didn’t call five minutes earlier.” </p>
<p>He scowls at the amused tone in David’s voice. “Do you really think I would have taken the call if she’d called five minutes earlier?”</p>
<p>“Stevie just texted, she’s on her way.” David shifts back on the bench, opening his arms in an obvious invitation. </p>
<p>Patrick nods and leans back against David’s chest. One cashmere-clad arm snakes around his shoulders, pulling him close. Taking David’s other hand he pulls both arms around him, tangling their fingers together. “I’ll miss you.”</p>
<p>David’s lips find the peak of his shoulder. “I’ll sext you every night.”</p>
<p>“With Stevie staying in the same room? Ew.” In all honesty, they’ve probably done worse with their friends and family in close proximity.</p>
<p>David laughs, it rumbles through his chest. Outside, a car horn sounds. “She’s here.” David’s arms tighten around him, the warmth of David’s body envelopes him until Stevie honks the horn a second time. Pulling out of David’s arms, he cups David’s face in his hands kissing him deep and slow, letting his lips linger. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you too.” With a final kiss, David wheels his suitcase out of the room. Patrick and Mariah sit together on the window seat, watching the doorway until the front door slams behind him. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“However did you decide which of these beautiful motels to purchase?” The streets of Niagara Falls are lined with an endless row of roadside motels, each one more distasteful than the last. The only interruption is the occasional tourist shop or gas station, each one adding to the transitory neon aesthetic of the town. It’s not that David can’t appreciate a summer-themed destination town. But where are the cute cafes with their brightly colored table umbrellas or hand-painted flower pots?</p>
<p>“Oh, we just flip a coin.” Stevie snarks at him as she makes a right turn off the main road and pulls into the parking lot of the motel. This is the fourth motel they’ve stayed in and it’s their last stop of the trip. The four nights they’ve spent together mark the longest stretch of time that David has spent in a motel room since he got married. It’s given him flashbacks of everything he’d hated about motel living with none of the limited benefits of being so close to his family. </p>
<p>This motel must be a recent addition to the Rosebud inventory.  It still has its original paint and the vintage sign by the side of the road reads ‘The White Rose’. David rolls down the window while Stevie checks them in and has a talk with the manager. The motel sign creaks in the wind, a high-pitched grinding of metal on metal. This is how people die at the beginning of horror movies. Stevie’s sleeping closest to the door this time. Scowling at the sign, he pulls out his notebook and flips through his sketches and notes on his different design ideas.</p>
<p>Stevie returns as he’s reading over his notes from the last motel. He pulls off his reading glass as she waves the key at him and he gets out of the car, ignoring the cracking sound in his back as he stretches. Pulling his bag out of the back of her car he wheels it to where she’s waiting by the door to room 6. The days when neither of them had any money for separate rooms are long behind them, but neither of them wants to give up the chance to catch up over wine and pizza. Not that either of them would admit it. Stevie rattles the key in the lock until it catches, pushing the door open. He follows her inside and puts his bag on the bed farthest from the door. It’s green. And not a nice restful forest green or even modern chartreuse accents. It’s puke green. Olive, in better days. These are not better days. These are not anywhere close to better days. Dark wood panelling interrupts the sea of green, it’s like they’ve wandered into a dank, mossy cave. “So, this is...nice.” </p>
<p>Stevie rolls her eyes at him, pulling open the curtains to let in an anemic beam of sunlight. “Is that your official opinion?”</p>
<p>“Ew. No. Everything in this room should be driven out to the middle of nowhere and burned.” He takes the bag with his skincare products into the tiny washroom. The green melamine around the sink is chipped at the corners. At least the olive green decor doesn’t extend to the fixtures. The white enamel of the sink and tub is scratched, but at least it looks clean. </p>
<p>“That’s what I thought.” Stevie opens the drawer of the nightstand between the two double beds and extracts a takeout menu. “Do you want to order the pizza or should I?”</p>
<p>“You always get it wrong.” He takes the menu from her and pulls out his phone.</p>
<p>“That’s because your order is incomprehensible and no one can be expected to get it right.” </p>
<p>“Patrick gets it right.” It had almost been too much, the first time Patrick surprised him with his pizza order. Something mundane made special by Patrick’s desire to memorize even the most insignificant details of his life. It’s not like it’s <em>that</em> complicated. But Patrick is the only one who cares enough to get it right.</p>
<p>“We both know that’s because Patrick is a freak for knowing the things you like.” As he puts in the order, Stevie searches in her bag and pulls out a bottle of wine, handing it to him as she retrieves a pair of plastic juice glasses from the credenza by the antique television.</p>
<p>“Have you been holding out on me?” He takes the glasses from her, waiting as she opens the bottle. He holds out the glasses and she fills each one to the brim. </p>
<p>“I didn’t want you to have unrealistic expectations too early in the trip.” Stevie sets the bottle on the nightstand and takes the glass he offers. He takes a sip of the wine, it’s delicious despite its pedestrian presentation. </p>
<p>Stevie crawls onto her bed and sits cross-legged in the middle. “So Clint and Marcy have been in town, for what? Two months? How’s that going?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” His worries about Clint and Marcy have largely evaporated. Like when he’d first met Patrick, the Brewers seemed too good to be true, like they’d stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. And then he’d discovered Marcy’s love of gossip and Clint’s absentmindedness. The Brewers might be less of a mess than his family, but they aren’t perfect.</p>
<p>Stevie looks skeptical. “That’s what you said last time and I didn’t believe you.”</p>
<p>David takes another sip of the wine. ”It really is fine, but I think they’re stressing Patrick out.” Patrick had been so angry over nothing before he’d left, his temper flaring out of nowhere. There’s been an uncurrent of tension to him ever since his parents had moved to Schitt’s Creek that David hasn’t been able to pin down. </p>
<p>“You think?” Stevie refills her glass, the bottle is half empty now. </p>
<p>He tilts his head back to the ceiling. “You know how he is.” The first time after they’d gotten married that Patrick had become moody and withdrawn, David had called Stevie in a panic, convinced Patrick was going to leave him. It had turned out that Patrick’s plans to streamline their online ordering process had fallen apart. Patrick sulked for three days until David’s apprehension had turned to irritation and he was ready to strangle him. Now, David ignores the churning feeling in his stomach and pushes away his anxiety as he lets Patrick seethe to himself until one or the other of them breaks. Mostly.</p>
<p>“Want me to torment him until he tells you what’s going on?” Stevie holds out the bottle. “It’s a lot, having your parents live right on top of you. I remember how intolerable you were when you had to live with your parents.” Stevie smirks at him as she tops up his glass, emptying the bottle.</p>
<p>“Ha. And yet you still became my friend, so that must say something about you.” Her friendship is still a mystery to him. He has yet to figure out why she’s remained his friend all these years. But she probably doesn’t know either.</p>
<p>Stevie tosses the cork from the wine bottle at him. “I know I have bad taste, what’s your excuse?”</p>
<p>He scowls at her in mock annoyance and finishes his wine, setting the empty glass on the bedside table. On the other bed, Stevie leans forward, her face solemn. “I need to tell you something.”</p>
<p>Her voice is low and serious, her fingers picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. Dread washes through him and wraps his arms around his bent knees, worst case scenarios flashing through his mind. “Are you dying? Or leaving Schitt’s Creek? Oh my god, you’ve met someone.”</p>
<p>“As much as I appreciate you viewing my future relationships as a potential tragedy, it’s none of those things.” Stevie picks at her cuticles. “I’m going to buy out Roland’s ownership of the Rosebud. It will give me a controlling interest in the company.”</p>
<p>“Okay?” He had no idea that she had the resources to do a deal on that scale, but it makes sense. He wouldn’t want to work with Roland either. Why is she acting like she’s viewing Alexander McQueen’s 1997 collection for Givenchy for the first time?</p>
<p>“Your dad might not be happy.” She tugs at a loose thread on the bedspread. When she looks up at him, there’s a crease between her eyebrows. </p>
<p>The pieces fall into place and the weight of her decision hits him. “He doesn’t know?” </p>
<p>Stevie shakes her head. “I wanted to finalize everything with Roland first.” She sighs, twisting the glass back and forth in her hands. “I love your dad. He’s done so much for me. But we need to make some changes and I don’t think he’s the right one to make them.”</p>
<p>He rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen the muscles that are suddenly too tight. Without question his parents will see this as a betrayal. The last place he wants to be is caught between his family and his best friend. His breath echoes in his ears, like he’s in a tunnel, his vision narrowing in a way that he dimly recognizes as the return of the panic attacks that he hasn’t had for years. Not since Patrick. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” A hand grasps his shoulder tightly. Stevie has shuffled off of the other bed, she’s kneeling in front of him. “David? David, say something.” Her fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulder and the sharp pressure is enough to push the darkness away and make him refocus. </p>
<p>He wishes Patrick were here for this conversation. Patrick, who understands business stuff. Patrick, who knows the right questions to ask. Patrick, who would reassure him that this won’t end as badly as he fears it might. He puts his hands over his face, avoiding his best friend. Is she still his best friend? And for how much longer? “What— When?”</p>
<p>“Roland and I have a signed deal. It will be executed at the end of next month.” Stevie stands up and sits on the edge of the bed. </p>
<p>He drops his hands, exhaling noisily. “God, the position you’re putting me in.” </p>
<p>“I know. I’m sorry.” For the first time in the entirety of their friendship, a look of regret crosses her face. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”</p>
<p>David puts his hands over his mouth and stares up at the ceiling, not seeing the water-stained tiles. “What do you expect me to do?” His voice is smaller than he wants it to be and the regretful expression moves more permanently onto Stevie’s face.</p>
<p>“Well, I’d prefer if you kept it quiet except for Patrick, but if you need to tell them can you give me 24 hours notice?” He’s not sure that conversations with his family can be scheduled in such a precise manner but since he doesn’t want to talk about it at all, maybe it won’t make any difference.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes and slides his hands down from his face. “Fine. But I want it on the record that I hate this.” The knock at the door startles both of them and Stevie gets up to accept the pizza. David turns on the television, finding a House Hunters marathon with an episode that he hasn’t seen.</p>
<p>They spend the rest of the night eating pizza and making fun of the poor choices of the participants on the show, but a pall hangs over both of them. He doesn’t like it. It makes his skin itch. This might be the first time he and Stevie haven’t been on the same page. Even when they’d bickered before, there’d been a game to it. But this is different. It’s barely ten o’clock when Stevie announces she’s going to sleep. David nods and by the time he’s out of the bathroom after his skincare routine, she’s rolled up in the covers with her back to him. He waits until her breathing evens out before he texts Patrick.</p>
<p><strong>David:</strong> You there?</p>
<p>Patrick replies immediately and the image of his husband sleeping in their bed by himself, waiting for David to text him before he falls asleep makes his eyes well up. He dashes a hand across his face and reads Patrick’s message.</p>
<p><strong>Patrick:</strong> I told you I’m not going to sext with Stevie in the room<br/><strong>David:</strong> Excuse me, who made me send nude selfies when I got out of the shower this morning?<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> I didn’t see Stevie in that bathroom with you</p>
<p>The photo Patrick had sent him in return had been gratifying to say the least. He drops a hand to the fastening of his jeans. No. He needs to talk to Patrick about Stevie’s news.</p>
<p><strong>David:</strong> So Stevie just told me she’s going to buy out Roland and take a controlling interested in the company</p>
<p>The three little appear as Patrick types his response, it takes longer this time than when they were just teasing each other.</p>
<p><strong>Patrick:</strong> I wondered if she’d do that<br/><strong>David:</strong> What do you mean you wondered if she’d do that?<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> We talk about business stuff sometimes. When you’re not around.<br/><strong>David:</strong> Sexy<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> I know she and your dad have a different approach, so it makes sense<br/><strong>David:</strong> Wait, you knew about this?<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> I didn’t know. I’m just not surprised</p>
<p>That Patrick had figured out the business part of this maybe shouldn’t be a surprise. He takes a sharp breath and types out what’s really bothering him.</p>
<p><strong>David:</strong> My parents are going to flip out<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> I know<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> We’ll figure it out together<br/><strong>David:</strong> Okay<br/><strong>David:</strong> I love you<br/><strong>Patrick:</strong> I love you too</p>
<p>He puts down the phone. In the other bed, Stevie snuffles in her sleep, a sound he’s heard dozens of times in dozens of different places but tonight it’s a reminder that things have changed between them, possibly forever.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint folds up the paper and sets it on the coffee table in case Marcy wants to read it when she comes back from her friend Priya’s house. On TV, Australian Rules Football is ending so bowling will be on next. He has the schedule memorized, not that there is anything worth watching on during the day. With a sigh, he turns off the television. The blank screen stares back at him. </p>
<p>Maybe Patrick wants to have lunch with him. David’s been gone all week, Patrick might want some company by now. He’s searching for his phone when there’s a knock at the door.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” His son has a sheaf of paper in the hand that’s holding Mariah’s leash, the other hand is shoved in his pocket. They’d teased him as a small boy that everything he had ended up in his pockets. Maybe he’s not so different as an adult. “You don’t have to knock, come in.” Patrick follows him into the kitchen, he sets the papers on the island. “Tea?”</p>
<p>“Sure.” Patrick unclips the dog’s leash and she bounds over to him for ear scratches. He obliges for a moment before she flops down in the middle of the kitchen floor. Patrick leans a hip against the counter as Clint fills the kettle and gets the tea out of the cupboard. He puts tea bags in two mugs and sets them on the counter between them. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” </p>
<p>“No, no. I was just dabbling in Australian Rules Football on TSN. Did you know that it’s been a sport since 1858?” He hasn’t been watching that closely, the rules are just different enough from North American football to be irritating, but a vignette about the history of the game had caught his attention.</p>
<p>“I did not.” Patrick grins at him and holds out the papers. “I was hoping you could look at this agreement from Ronnie’s lawyer?”</p>
<p>“And here I thought you were here for my company.” He means the words to be teasing, but a complicated expression crosses Patrick’s face. “I’d be happy to.” He takes the papers from Patrick. <strong>Memorandum of Agreement</strong> is written in bold letters across the top of the first page. He flips through to the end, from his quick perusal, it’s a standard contract.</p>
<p>“Thanks. Our lawyer’s out of town for the week and I don’t want to make excuses to Ronnie.” Patrick grimaces and Clint nods sympathetically. After with his own limited experience, he wouldn’t want to make excuses to Ronnie either. </p>
<p>“This is all happening really quickly, are you sure it’s the right step for the business?” Patrick’s mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. </p>
<p>“David’s excited to expand in a new direction and I’ve run the numbers, they’re solid.” Patrick gestures to the papers in Clint’s hand as the kettle whistles. “I don’t think we’re bound to anything we can’t get out of, but that’s why I’m here.”</p>
<p>He pours the water in the mugs and sets the timer for it to steep. “Okay, I just know it’s hard enough getting into business with people you like, nevermind, well, someone like Ronnie.”</p>
<p>Patrick smirks at his oblique reference. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out even if you like each other.”</p>
<p>HIs stomach drops, the incident with Jake still fresh in his mind. “You and David aren’t having problems…” He hands over the mug of tea and the honey that Patrick likes.</p>
<p>Patrick laughs. It’s so joyous that it erases any inkling of fear. “No, no. I was just—” He breaks off, a guilty look on his face. “Stevie’s been having some challenges with the Rosebud, but I probably shouldn’t say anything.” Patrick adds some honey to his tea and blows on it before taking a sip.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m always happy to listen if you need someone to talk to.” When Patrick had worked at the credit union in West Canthor, they’d talk about work all the time. Once Patrick had moved away, they’d fallen out of the habit of confiding in each other. </p>
<p>“Thanks Dad.” There’s a warmth to Patrick’s smile that comes more naturally now than it had before. </p>
<p>He returns the smile and taps the legal document. “Is a couple of days okay on this?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s fine.” He’s about to suggest Patrick join him for lunch when the doorbell rings. </p>
<p>Clint opens it to find Jocelyn standing on his step, a plate of squares in her hands. Increasingly, he suspects that she shows up with food when she wants something. </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home.” Jocelyn flaps her free hand at him. “I thought you and Marcy might like these Nanaimo bars.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. Do you want to come in?” He takes the tray, the smell of chocolate and sugar fills his senses. Whatever else he might think about Jocelyn, her baking is second to none.</p>
<p>“Just for a minute. I just wanted to ask you something real quick and I’ll be out of your hair. Oh, Patrick!” Jocelyn beams at his son as she comes into the kitchen. “Just the person I wanted to see.”</p>
<p>“I thought I was the person you wanted to see.” The words seep out before he can stop them and Patrick stifles a snicker.</p>
<p>“You both are.” Jocelyn laughs and both he and Patrick eye her cautiously. “Moira’s benefit is coming up next month and—”</p>
<p>“No.” Patrick has never sounded so firm. “You know what the deal is.” Patrick sets his mug down on the counter firmly enough that tea sloshes over the side.</p>
<p>“Just a few minutes of your time…” Jocelyn pats at the air. “You know Moira would really appreciate it. If she were here. And if she knew about it.”</p>
<p>“David will kill me if I take that on. And frankly Jocelyn, he’s more important to me than the benefit.” Patrick crosses his arms and stares her down.</p>
<p>Undaunted, Jocelyn swings her gaze over to him. “Clint. I’m so grateful you offered to help the other day.”</p>
<p>“Is that what I said?” He should have been firmer with Jocelyn before. Like her husband, Jocelyn is very good at avoiding all but the most direct responses.</p>
<p>“I just have a brief list of donations that we need for the benefit.” Jocelyn pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket and hands it to him. He unfolds it, a list of items, accompanied by names and phone numbers fills both sides of the page in ten-point type. “You want me to contact all these people?”</p>
<p>“Dad, you don’t have to do this.” Patrick shakes his head at Jocelyn who smiles back at him.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you start with a few names and see how far you get?” Jocelyn rests her hand on his arm. “Plus, it will be a great way for you to get to meet some people.” Before he can agree or disagree, she’s waving her fingers at them from the door and closing it behind her.</p>
<p>Patrick’s eyes flash with amusement as Clint takes a sip of his tea. It’s cold.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The disorganized box of invoices, business returns and purchase orders makes Marcy want to kick Priya’s former business manager in the shins. The woman may have only left a month ago, but judging by the date of the papers at the bottom of the box, it has been at least six since she’d done her job properly. Marcy makes another note on the legal pad on her desk. Fortunately, there won’t be any lasting damage to Priya’s business. A few weeks of hard work by a competent person will put things to rights.</p>
<p>She’s flipping through the papers, searching for the most recent sales tax return when Priya’s carefully manicured hand sets a floral china plate in front of her. An elegant slice of a pale yellow cake topped with pistachios greets Marcy’s tired eyes. “There’s tea in the kitchen if I can persuade you to step away from the desk.” </p>
<p>Marcy smiles up at the woman who is rapidly on her way to becoming her friend. “A break sounds wonderful.” She nods at the cake as the sweet, unfamiliar scent fills her nostrils. “What’s that?”</p>
<p>“It’s called kalakand. It’s a traditional family recipe.” </p>
<p>Marcy takes a bite of the dessert. The rich flavour fills her taste buds as the milk cake melts in her mouth. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”</p>
<p>“The tea will cut the sweetness. Come.” Priya gestures to the kitchen and Marcy follows, grateful to leave the irritating business records behind.</p>
<p>She joins Priya at the kitchen table. Photos of her two sons and her daughter smile down at them from the wall beside the window. Marcy accepts a cup of tea, wrapping her hands around the delicate china cup. “ Do your children live here?”</p>
<p>Priya shakes her head. “They left for the city as soon as they could and never came back. It’s what children do. Prisha is still in business school but I know she will want to stay there as soon as she gets the chance. There will be more opportunities for her there.” Patrick had never been like that. He’d stayed at home, gone to the local university, settled down with Rachel. Maybe they should have pushed him harder to explore, all those years ago. But then he would never have met David, an eventuality she can’t even imagine.</p>
<p>“Patrick was the opposite. He never cared about the city or leaving home. Until, well—“ She breaks off to wave vaguely, a motion that she hopes conveys some of Patrick’s journey to come here.</p>
<p>“I always used to wonder—“ Priya breaks off, an embarrassed look on her face. “I shouldn’t gossip.”</p>
<p>“I’m his mother, it hardly counts.” Priya knows Patrick in a completely different way than she does. As owner of Rose Apothecary. As David’s husband. What version of her son does Priya see?</p>
<p>“We all wondered if David would sweep them off to the big city after they got married. And after the rest of the Roses left town.”  </p>
<p>“I— I hadn’t thought of that.” It had never occurred to her. Would David and Patrick leave Schitt’s Creek after she and Clint had uprooted their entire lives to move here? Does David still think of New York as the place he belongs? She takes another bite of the cake, savouring the unfamiliar flavor. Patrick would go. Patrick would go wherever David went, maybe not without regret, but possibly without hesitation. </p>
<p>They finish their tea and the conversation turns to Priya’s plans to expand her business with a new line of aromatherapy oils. Marcy tidies up her notes for the day, leaving with a promise to return the next week to finish things off. It’s just before five o’clock. Maybe she’ll stop at the store and invite Patrick for dinner. David isn’t supposed to get back until late tonight. It would be nice to have her son to herself for the evening.</p>
<p>When she gets to the store, the sign in the window is flipped to Closed but the lights are still on. She tries the door; it opens under her hand. Stepping inside, there’s no one in the main room. Before she can call out for Patrick, there’s a loud thud from the back room. Pushing aside the curtain, she stops short, paralyzed by the scene in front of her.</p>
<p>There’s a flash of skin. Two bodies pressed against a wall. A sharp gasp from Patrick. “Oh my god.” She stumbles blindly backwards through the curtain, it tangles around her, the grasping folds surrounding her as she staggers out of the back room. She pushes through the front door, panting as she stands on the sidewalk, unable to shut off the fire hose of images of her son and his husband. Hysterical laughter bubbles up inside her and she presses her hands over her mouth to keep it from leaking out. Patrick probably doesn’t want to come over for dinner. It looks like he has other plans.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Honey, I’m home.” David drapes himself over the door of the store in a pose that is probably intended to be sexy, but is, in fact, faintly ridiculous. It’s for the best. If his husband were any sexier, Patrick might combust on the spot, especially after David’s been away for five days. Mariah races out from the back room, bouncing at his feet before David bends to pet her.</p>
<p>“You’re just in time to sweep the floor.” He might have missed the look of horror and annoyance that flows across David’s face almost as much as the sight of his husband, clad in skin-tight jeans and a cozy sweater. He longs to touch him. His hands clutch the edge of the counter and his hips twitch towards David. His husband’s eyes catch the movement and he smirks.</p>
<p>“I didn’t allow any of the dirt on the floor to enter our store, so it’s not my responsibility to clean it up.” With exaggerated slowness, David flips the sign on the door. He moves towards Patrick, sinuous and slow, a jungle cat on the prowl. Patrick swallows roughly, his eyes following each measured step as David comes closer and closer.</p>
<p>“Hey.” He just gets the word out before David’s arms slide around his shoulders, pulling him into a long overdue kiss. His husband’s lips are demanding against his, David’s hand is firm on the back of his neck as he holds Patrick in place, making up for five days apart. David shoves him against the door frame, his lips dropping to the base of Patrick’s neck. “God, I missed you.” Patrick spins them around, through the curtain and into the back room, pushing David roughly against the nearest stack of boxes. They shift, but take the weight as he grinds into David, hands slipping under that soft sweater, searching for bare skin.</p>
<p>Years of practice let him make quick work of the fastening of David’s jeans. He pushes them halfway down David’s thighs, exposing him in the dim light of the stockroom. David’s head tips back into the boxes, his hands scrabble at Patrick’s shoulders. “Here’s what I’m gonna do.” He brings his lips up to David’s ear, whispering softly. “I’m gonna get you as hard as I can just by doing this.” He twists his hand and a deep groan comes from deep in David’s belly and his body vibrates against his. “And then, I’m gonna suck you just the way you like it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” David draws the word out in a breathy gasp. His body convulses against the boxes. There’s a loud crash as something falls off the shelf. </p>
<p>“And then, we’re gonna go home and do it again.” He moves his hand and David’s hips move with it, a slow rhythm building between them. He drops to his knees and takes David into his mouth. Holding David in place, he’s about to give him his full attention when a soft gasp forces his attention to the door. “Oh my god.” He just has time to register his mom flailing back through the curtain before she’s gone. “Jesus Christ.” David’s fingers flex in his hair, the faint pull keeping him from spiralling out of control.</p>
<p>“Do you— Do you think she saw anything?” David’s voice is more subdued than it’s ever been. He slips his hands out of Patrick’s hair, squeezing his neck softly. </p>
<p>“Well, she must have seen something, or she wouldn’t have left so quickly.” He rests his head against David’s thigh, the mood completely broken. “Oh god.” He staggers to his feet and David makes quick work of pulling his clothes back together. “I can never see my mom again. We’re going to have to move.” This might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s a thousand times worse than the time a poorly secured towel made him accidentally flash his mom. It’s even worse than the time his dad had caught him and Rachel after they’d had sex in his childhood bedroom. </p>
<p>“Aren’t we supposed to go for dinner tomorrow night? Do you think we can move before then?” </p>
<p>“You’re not helping.” The idea of sitting across the dining table from his parents while they all try to avoid talking about what had just happened makes him nauseous. All he wants is a measure of privacy where he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder in case his parents turn up. “I can’t take this anymore.” He paces back and forth in front of David. “They’re always there, you know? It’s like I can’t get away from them.” </p>
<p>“Mmm.” David makes a soft noise, but doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the boxes by the door.</p>
<p>He comes to a stop in front of David, hands on his hips, guilt crashes around him. “And it makes me feel so fucking guilty, because I should want them to be here. When I lived at home… there… wherever, I saw them all the time and it was fine. But what if it was only fine because I was hiding who I really was? What if I only enjoyed spending time with my parents because it was a shield for spending time with Rachel?” The words gush out of him, the dam he’s built over the past two months breaking and washing away. </p>
<p>He’s always been proud of how well he and Rachel got along with his parents. They’d watched baseball and hockey games in the evenings, had barbeques on the weekend, gone camping together. The four of them had spent more time together than he had with some of his friends. And now he’s not sure if it was just one more lie he’d told himself about the person he really was.</p>
<p>“Oh, honey.” David holds out his hand and there’s no choice but to take it. David reels him in, resting his hands in their familiar spot on his shoulders, his fingers rubbing gently at the back of his neck. “Do you really think that’s true?”</p>
<p>“No.” He rests his forehead against David’s shoulder. “Probably not. I just need some space.” Even on weeks like this when they haven’t been apart, he hungers for time alone with David. And lately, his parents are always there, waiting to pop out from around every corner with an invitation to dinner or a cheery anecdote.</p>
<p>“You’re going to have to talk to them.” David pets the back of his head, it tickles the nape of his neck.</p>
<p>“Fuck. I’m going to have to talk to them.” He lifts his head and strokes his hands down the front of David’s sweater, resting his fingertips at the hem. “This wasn’t how I wanted to welcome you home.”</p>
<p>“We can still put the other part of your plan into action.” David embellishes a leer, making him laugh.</p>
<p>“Hmm. Is that the part where you sweep the floor?”</p>
<p>“I hate to disappoint you twice in one day, but no, no it’s not.” David kisses him quickly before reaching for the nearby box of moisturizer. “But because I’m a very generous person, I will restock the shelves while you close up.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The front door opens and Clint hears the distinctive sounds of Marcy taking off her shoes and hanging her bag on the hook by the door. “Marcy? Is that you?” He circles a paragraph in the agreement that Patrick had given him and waits for Marcy to come into the kitchen. The clause benefits Ronnie, he might recommend a slight change to Patrick.  “How was your afternoon?”</p>
<p>There’s a lengthy pause before Marcy appears in the doorway, a distracted look on her face. “Fine. Good. It was fine. I’ll go back next week and that should get things sorted.” She hovers in the doorway as though she might flee at any moment. Something’s wrong. </p>
<p>He puts down his pen and frowns at her. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?” It’s not like Marcy to be openly distraught. Even when Patrick broke his arm in second grade, she’d been calm and efficient, waiting until they were home and Patrick was safely tucked into bed before she’d cried on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I stopped by the store just now.” Bewildered, he decides. She seems bewildered. She clasps her hands together, not moving from where she’s rooted in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Okay?” He’s starting to worry now. Has something happened to the store? Or to Patrick? It must be serious. His stomach flips over, releasing an entire conservatory full of butterflies. </p>
<p>“And David got home early.” His fear takes an unfamiliar form. Had David walked in on Patrick doing something inappropriate? Was it Jake? Oh god, he knew the way Jake had kissed Patrick wasn’t right. And now David’s found out and Patrick will lose the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Or maybe David or Stevie are ill? Or perhaps there was an accident? </p>
<p>He pushes aside his worry and tries for a normal response. “Well, Patrick must be happy to see him.”  </p>
<p>“You could say that.” Marcy stares at him with wide eyes as though he’s supposed to discern more information from her expression. He looks back at her blankly, trying to figure it out. “From what I saw, Patrick was <em>very</em> happy to see him.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean— Oh. <em>Oh.</em>” Marcy nods frantically, twisting her hands together. “Oh, no.” </p>
<p>“God, I’m so embarrassed.” Marcy sinks into the chair beside his and covers her face with her hands. “The door was unlocked—” He squeezes her shoulder gently, even as he wants to laugh. “I never thought...at the store! I can’t unsee it.” She lifts her head, horror burned into her features. “What am I going to say when they come for dinner tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure Patrick won’t want to talk about it either.” Theirs is a family well-practiced at avoiding uncomfortable discussions. Tomorrow’s dinner might be in an entirely different category.</p>
<p>“And the store! I can’t go back there.” Marcy is normally level-headed, but the embarrassment brings out her dramatic side. </p>
<p>“I guess we don’t have a choice, we’ll just order online from now on.” He strokes her shoulder. “Since you can never show your face in the store again.”</p>
<p>“From our son’s store. The one that’s just down the street.” Marcy’s voice is flat and unamused at his teasing. </p>
<p>“Well, I assumed that besides the store, we could never see Patrick again.” The tension eases from Marcy’s face as she responds to his teasing. </p>
<p>“Well, you can see him.” Marcy’s eyes flash as she tries not to smile. “Seriously, what am I going to say?”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you wait and see if he brings it up?” Marcy nods, he’s not sure she’s satisfied but she drops it. Clint pulls the other paper out from under the legal agreement. “Jocelyn stopped by today.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He hands the paper to Marcy. She won’t be happy about Jocelyn’s request, she’s made her antipathy for the other woman well known. </p>
<p>“Apparently I’m in charge of finding donations for this fundraiser they do in Moira’s name?” He’s still not sure exactly what put him in this position.</p>
<p>Marcy takes the page. “She wants you to contact all these people?” She flips the page back and forth looking at both sides. “There must be a hundred names here.” She pats him on the shoulder before leaning down to kiss his temple. “I guess you’d better get an early start tomorrow. I’d ask Patrick to help you, but as you know I’ll never be able to see him again.” Marcy throws a grin over her shoulder as she leaves the room. Finally, he has something to do. He reads over Jocelyn’s list again. First thing tomorrow, he’ll start checking names off the list.</p>
<p>Twyla is one of the few names on the list that he recognizes, so the next morning he starts at the cafe. Taking a seat at the counter, he waits until Twyla has a minute to take his order. </p>
<p>“What can I get you?” Twyla puts a stack of menus at the end of the counter and refills the napkin dispensers. </p>
<p>“Just a coffee, please. And Jocelyn says I’m supposed to ask you about donating a yoga class for the fundraiser?” </p>
<p>“Of course.” Twyla beams at him. “I offer couples classes every second Tuesday or mother-daughter classes on Monday afternoons or every third Sunday Roland lets us turn up the heat at the Town Hall for hot yoga. Oh, and next month, Heather Warner is going to let me borrow her goats for goat yoga.”</p>
<p>Hot yoga? Goats? How are there so many kinds of yoga? “Uh, what do you recommend?” </p>
<p>“Why don’t you come check out our beginner’s class?” Twyla finishes with the napkins and places them beneath the counter. She brings a tray of coffee mugs to the counter and dries them. </p>
<p>“Oh, I wasn’t planning to come to a class.” Clint shakes his head vigorously. “It’s just for the benefit…”</p>
<p>“Don’t be silly, I’d be happy to have you.” Twyla finishes with the mugs. She picks up the coffee pot. “Town Hall at two o’clock. Don’t be late.” With that, she picks up the coffee pot and leaves to tend to her tables. He’d never considered doing yoga before. He hikes and golfs and goes fishing but yoga seems so...feminine. Which isn’t a reason not to try it. But maybe it’s the reason he hasn’t tried it in the past. </p>
<p>He gets to Town Hall early and lingers on the step. It’s too early to go in, but he doesn’t have enough time to go anywhere else. He wishes he knew what to expect. Images of flexible women holding poses he’d barely been able to manage as a teenager fill his mind. He’s just not that flexible. But, Twyla had said it was for beginners. One class won’t hurt. </p>
<p>Maybe he should have prepared better. Or maybe he should come back another day once he’s done some research. He peeks his head in the door, Twyla moves around the room, setting up a series of brightly colored yoga mats on the floor. No. He wants to try something new. He can’t do that if he can’t even make it in the door. He’s about to step inside when a smooth voice stops him.</p>
<p>“Clint, right? Good to see you again.” Jake holds the door open, gesturing him forward. </p>
<p>“Jake.” The sight of the other man stops him in his tracks. Is this another one of Jake’s <em>woodworking</em> classes? What if this isn’t really a yoga class? What if it’s a pagan festival? Or a sex cult? This is a terrible idea. He should ask Patrick about Twyla’s classes before he attends one. That’s the sensible thing to do. Jake gestures again, still holding the door. “Um. I, uh, I forgot something in the car.” He spins around and trots down the steps. Shoot. He didn’t bring the car. Over his shoulder the door to Town Hall closes behind Jake. Heaving a sigh of relief he turns and heads for home.  </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Marcy, this wine is delicious.” David’s voice is too bright. Awkward tension rises in the room like a tide, menacing and unforgiving. Beside him on the couch, Patrick wrings his hands together again and again and again and again. Every twist of his fingers is one more reminder of why they’re in this uncomfortable situation. David places his hand on Patrick’s leg. No. That’s not good. He snatches it back. It’s not like he hasn’t exposed himself before, but this is Marcy, who professes to like him for some unfathomable reason. Maybe this is it, maybe this is the end of Marcy patting him on the cheek and hugging him hello and baking him cookies. He’s still not sure how much she saw. But if the painful small talk is any indication, it was enough.</p>
<p>“Well, it should be, it came from your store.” Marcy’s voice is falsely cheerful, falling away as she blushes at the mention of the store. Beside him, Patrick shifts again and David tries not to crawl out of his skin as the painful small talk continues. </p>
<p>Clint sits on the opposite sofa, clearly searching for anything else to focus on besides the awkward conversation unfolding in front of him. Clint pats the cushion next to him and Mariah jumps up and settles onto his lap. There’s a beat of silence before Clint looks up. “What?” </p>
<p>Marcy forces a laugh, breaking the silence. “You used to hate it when I let Snoopy up on the furniture.” Clint scratches Mariah’s ears and she cuddles closer, nudging his hand with her nose. </p>
<p>David seizes on the only detail that might lead the conversation to a less uncomfortable place. “I’m sorry, you had a dog named Snoopy?” It’s the sort of cliche that he’s come to expect from the Brewers. The name that a seven-year-old would choose and everyone else would go along with because it was cute, when anyone with taste would have rejected it out of hand.</p>
<p>“Patrick named him. We got him in October and Patrick was obsessed with the Great Pumpkin.” For the first time that evening, Marcy looks at her son, laughter on her face.</p>
<p>“It’s a perfectly good name.” Patrick’s hands finally fall still as he defends himself. </p>
<p>David would have a thousand conversations about Snoopy if it takes the edge off of the room. “This just confirms my insistence on being the one to find Mariah’s name. The right name is too important for cartoon characters.”</p>
<p>“But pop divas are okay?” David takes a breath as Patrick sasses him. His husband’s hands are still clasped together but he’s stopped twisting them anxiously.</p>
<p>“Obviously.” Patrick’s comment isn’t worth entertaining. As if there is any comparison between a cartoon dog and the perfection of Mariah Carey.</p>
<p>“Patrick. David.” Marcy leans forward, a serious look on her face. David winces to himself, anticipating what’s coming next. As embarrassing conversations go, this might not even make his top ten. There was the time Vanya’s husband had caught them and instead of throwing David out of the house had given them both a lecture about the importance of emotional intimacy. But Marcy is so personal and earnest that this moment carries more weight than all the others combined. Marcy twists her hands together, the gesture an echo of Patrick’s. It would be amusing if it weren’t for the tension radiating off of them both. “I, um, I want you to know that—”</p>
<p>“Mom—” Patrick stares at the floor, his voice scratches across David’s ears. </p>
<p>“Can we just agree that mistakes were made and say that we never want to think or talk about them again?” David interjects, placing his hand over Patrick’s desperate to stop the renewed clenching and unclenching of his fingers. He takes a gulp of his wine, desperately trying to bring this topic to a close. </p>
<p>“Yes! That’s a great idea!” Marcy’s voice is falsely buoyant. “I think dinner is almost ready.” She gets up quickly and walks more quickly than is natural to the kitchen, leaving David and Patrick alone with Clint. The tension in the room eases slightly and Clint smiles at them uncomfortably.  Mariah rolls over on his lap, requesting belly scratches. Clint obliges and she squirms happily.</p>
<p>“Does Twyla really teach yoga?” Clint asks out of nowhere and David might get whiplash if this conversation heads off in many more directions, but at least they’re no longer talking about his and Patrick’s sex life. </p>
<p>“Yeah. I go sometimes.” He leans back on the couch. Thank god they’ve moved past the previous conversation. </p>
<p>“Oh good. Good. I wondered.” Clint falls silent but David suspects there’s more he wants to say. </p>
<p>He waits, glancing at Patrick. Why Clint is being so cagey about a yoga class? “Okay?”</p>
<p>“She invited me. But then I ran into Jake and I wasn’t sure.” Clint laughs, self-deprecating and Patrick tenses beside him, horror etched across his face. “I’ve, um, heard some things. About Jake. Not about Twyla.”</p>
<p>“Well, in our experience, everything you’ve heard about Jake is probably true.” David pats Patrick’s leg. “Isn’t that right, honey?”</p>
<p>“Oh my god.” Patrick covers his face with his hands, only the red tips of his ears are visible. David strokes a hand down his back, desperate to ease his embarrassment.</p>
<p>“I just meant that you hear things that later turn out to be true. Not anything else. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” David waves his fist in the air to emphasize his point. Beside him, Patrick makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a whimper, like the low hiss of a beach ball deflating. “Basically, Jake is up for anything.”</p>
<p>The embarrassed silence returns, even heavier than before. “Who wants more wine with dinner?” Marcy’s voice calls from the kitchen. </p>
<p>“Oh, I do.” Patrick is off the couch and heading for the kitchen before David says anything else. </p>
<p>Normally, dinner with Patrick’s parents involves a detailed discussion of either baseball or hockey, depending on the season, and a rundown on which of Patrick’s many cousins have new jobs or children or pets. Tonight, no one is willing to say the first word. Everyone stares at their plates, unwilling to make eye contact. David takes another bite of Marcy’s chicken parmesan, closing his eyes to savor the taste when Patrick sets his knife and fork down on the edge of his plate with a clatter.</p>
<p>“Um.” The word rings into the room, simultaneously too much and not enough. Patrick clears his throat, it ricochets around the overly quiet room.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Marcy prompts as Patrick falls silent. </p>
<p>“You know I love having you guys live here.” After the rough start to the evening, the words sink onto the table, taking up all the space between them. Beneath the table, David offers his hand to Patrick, anticipating what’s coming next. Patrick weaves their fingers together, squeezing tightly.</p>
<p>“We love being here. It’s wonderful being able to see you both whenever we like.” Marcy nods happily at them. </p>
<p>“Marcy—” As ever, Clint is the one who gives Patrick the space to speak.</p>
<p>“About that.” Patrick looks down at his plate, his free hand straightening the extra cutlery in his place setting. He takes a deep breath and stares across the table at his parents. “After the, uh, incident at the store yesterday, I thought— we thought— it might be good to have some ground rules. About dropping in. That kind of thing.”</p>
<p>“If that’s what you want.” Marcy looks worried. “I’m sure this won’t happen again. We used to drop in all the time when you lived with Rachel.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t mean we don’t want to see you.” The words rush out of Patrick. “It just might be better, for everyone, if you called first.” </p>
<p>“Patrick and I have a lot more sex than he did with Rachel.” David interjects, hoping to move the conversation along. “Like, a lot more.” Patrick’s fingers twitch in his, his face is flushed and his eyes are wide.</p>
<p>Marcy picks up her fork and stabs blindly at her green beans as she avoids Patrick’s eyes. “Okay. Good. Yes. That’s good. Very sensible, logical. We’ll just call or text first before we come over. Does that work for you?” Patrick nods and takes a gulp of his wine. “Good. Good.” Marcy sighs with relief as David squeezes Patrick’s hand one last time and takes another bite of his chicken. Eager to finally get the conversation back on track, he smiles brightly.</p>
<p>“So, who watched the baseball yesterday?”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Oof.” Patrick half-falls, half-throws himself onto the couch in their living room. At the other end of the couch, David pulls his feet into his lap. Across the room, Mariah curls onto her bed, nosing at her favorite stuffed toy. </p>
<p>“Shoes on the furniture are incorrect.” David carefully unties the brown Italian leather Oxfords that he’d bought Patrick last year and sets them to one side of the sofa. </p>
<p>“That was awful.” He slings an arm across his eyes as if that might help block out the last hour of his life. “I kept hoping an enormous hole would open up and swallow me.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” David runs his hand up his calf, resting it on his knee. Normally, that simple touch would be enough to distract him, but he’s too wound up by his parent’s newfound knowledge of their sex life. All things considered, he might never have sex again. </p>
<p>“And you.” He pulls his arm away from his eyes and glares at his husband. “Telling my parents we have more sex— god.” He puts the arm back.</p>
<p>“Well, we do.” David walks his fingers part way up Patrick’s thigh. “Do you need a reminder?” The fingers scratch softly at the seam of his jeans and in spite of himself, the touch reverberates through him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t move his arm but his lips betray him, curving up a bit at the corners. David’s fingers continue their slow march upwards. His smile deepens as David’s drags the end of his belt through the buckle. The clasp comes free and David pops the button of his jeans. He pulls his arm away from his eyes. “Wait. Did you lock the front door?”</p>
<p>David rolls his eyes, his fingers still posed over Patrick’s zipper. “It’s ten o’clock at night. I doubt your parents will drop by for a cup of coffee.”</p>
<p>“Just to be on the safe side.” There can’t be too many locked doors between what they’re about to do and his parents.</p>
<p>“Fine.” David huffs at him and gets up to lock the front door. Patrick swings his legs off the couch and leans back against the soft cushions of the sofa. When they’d moved in, David had insisted on spending more to get an extra long, extra plush couch. Patrick has never regretted it. David sashays back into the room, giving his hips an extra shimmy as he comes closer. Moving even closer, David swings his leg over Patrick’s settling into his lap, his hands braced on Patrick’s shoulders. His own hands come up automatically, steadying David’s hips. David smirks down at him, his eyes laughing. “Do I need to make you forget your traumatic experience?”</p>
<p>He slides his hands up David’s hips and under the hem of his sweater until he finds bare skin. “What did you have in mind?”</p>
<p>David leans close as if he wants a kiss, but he purrs in Patrick’s ear instead. “I was thinking maybe a small games night. Just the two of us.”</p>
<p>“What kind of games?” He lets his fingertips brush against the ticklish spot at the top of David’s hips just to make him squirm in his lap. “And don’t we need six people for optimal game play?”</p>
<p>“Maybe next time.” David kisses him now and Patrick has to tip his head back even further to meet him halfway. The size and weight of David on top of him steals his breath away. David rotates his hips teasingly, wanting Patrick to chase him. Instead, Patrick tightens his grip on David’s hips and spills them sideways onto the couch, trapping David beneath him, provoking a startled giggle from his husband.</p>
<p>He props his elbows on either side of David’s head, fingertips brushing at David’s hairline. David’s arms come around his waist, holding him firmly. It feels exactly right. The fit of their bodies together, the softness of David’s hair beneath his hands, the spark in David’s eyes. A low laugh bubbles out of him and he kisses David, one hand cupping the back of his head. It’s slow and soft, a kiss they’ve grown into over time through lazy movie nights and sleepy cuddles. </p>
<p>They exchange kisses back and forth, he’s a little turned on, the way he always is whenever David is in the room, but not enough to do anything about it. Maybe they can just stay here, trading kisses until they fall asleep when David wiggles and hums at him. “I love you, honey, but you’re killing my back right now.”</p>
<p>“I forgot that you’re almost 40.” He slides off the couch, holding out his hand for David, who wrinkles his nose at him before letting Patrick pull him to his feet. “We better get you to bed, you’re not as young as you used to be.”</p>
<p>“I bet I can last longer than you can.” David’s not wrong, he’s the night owl while Patrick falls asleep first. David pushes him towards the stairs. “And then after, you can tell your mom about all the great sex we’re having.”</p>
<p>“Are you trying to make it so we never have sex again?” He follows David up the stairs. “Because talking about my mom is a sure-fire way to make that happen.”</p>
<p>“I just think she deserves to know.” </p>
<p>“Ugh.” He pushes David towards the bathroom. “It’s bedtime.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Surprise Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>“Get your own.” </p><p>Patrick laughs as his husband uses his long arms to hold the bowl of popcorn out of Stevie’s reach. There are two other bowls on the coffee table and a fourth in Patrick’s lap, but neither David nor Stevie is happy until they’re causing the maximum amount of chaos for the other. He leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to David’s cheek, using his free hand to steal the bowl David is holding aloft and offering it to Stevie. </p><p>“Thank you, Patrick.” Stevie tucks the bowl into her lap as David pouts. She takes a large handful, flicking a couple of kernels towards David. His husband’s scowl deepens.  </p><p>“Traitor.” David shimmies his shoulders from side to side, snuggling more firmly between Patrick and Stevie.</p><p>Patrick offers him some popcorn from his own bowl, resting one hand on David’s leg as they cuddle together. “I’m just being nice to our guest.” </p><p>“<em>Our guest</em> practically lives here.” David’s not wrong. This is the third night this week that Stevie has been over for dinner and it’s only Thursday. If Patrick didn’t know any better, he’d think Stevie was overcompensating for dumping the news of her pending takeover of Rosebud Motels onto David last week. But, since both of them have assured him that everything is fine, that can’t possibly be the reason that Stevie is back for her third movie night in five days.</p><p>He pulls the oversized fleece blanket from the back of the couch, offering a corner to Stevie and unfolding it over top of the three of them as they pile on top of each other. Neither David nor Stevie would admit it, but both of them thrive on this close contact and casual affection. Beneath the blanket, he runs his hand down David’s arm, tangling their fingers together. On his other side, Mariah presses up against Patrick’s leg, he scratches her ears in between bites of popcorn.</p><p>“What are we watching?” In the interests of fairness, and compromise, (remember, David?) they rotate choices for their movie nights. David typically grumbles about being outnumbered, but tonight is his night to choose. He fumbles for the remote, opening Interflix. </p><p>“50 First Dates.” The past five years have taught Patrick that David likes to watch his rom coms in bunches. All of Julia followed by all of Kate followed by all of Meg. This month he’s been on a Drew Barrymore streak. </p><p>He and Stevie groan in unison. “We watched that last week.” After five years, they know every movie by heart, he and Stevie trading lines back and forth throughout each movie, much to David’s ongoing disgust. </p><p>“And?” David is adamant that he sees something new every time he rewatches his favorites, but Patrick’s sure he just delights in the soft happy endings.</p><p>“How about the new Drew Barrymore instead? At least we haven’t seen it yet.” He takes a handful of popcorn, slipping a couple of pieces to Mariah when David’s not looking.</p><p>“Fine.” David steals the bowl of popcorn out of Patrick’s lap. “But it won’t be as good.” </p><p>David cues up the movie and Patrick rests his head on David’s shoulder, the soft press of lips to the top of his head follows moments later. On David’s other side, Stevie has her knees tucked under her chin as she’s pressed against David’s side. Beneath the blanket, he slides his hand over David’s stomach, his fingers catching on the fuzzy texture of David’s sweater. </p><p>They’re only fifteen minutes into the movie but he can already tell that David is right, this movie isn’t as good as 50 First Dates. His attention wanders. He hasn’t seen his parents since Saturday’s awkward dinner and his mom is probably waiting for him to reach out, not wanting to intrude. He sighs to himself and feels David’s lips brush over his hair again. His parents’ expectations had been easier to manage from a thousand kilometers away. He just wants some space, the freedom to do what he wants with his life. But, he’s asked for boundaries so it’s hard to complain now that he has them. He slips his phone out of his pocket, ignoring David’s hissed protests about paying attention to the movie and texts his mom to ask if she wants to have breakfast in the morning. </p><p>At last, Drew has reunited with her childhood sweetheart and the credits roll on the movie as they kiss at their high school reunion. He lifts his head from David’s shoulder. Stevie has fallen asleep. She’s scrunched into a ball on her third of the sofa, her head pillowed on her folded arm and her sock feet pressed up against David’s leg. </p><p>“I think it’s bedtime.” Standing up, he drapes the blanket over Stevie. Offering his hand to David, he pulls him up off the couch and calls softly to Mariah. While David heads upstairs to start his nightly skincare routine, he puts the dog out and locks up and turns off the lights, by the time he’s finished, Mariah is at the door, waiting to come back in. Passing through the living room, he pauses by the couch. David and Stevie are both trying to pretend everything is normal. He hopes their friendship is strong enough to withstand what’s coming. Stevie snuffles in her sleep. With a final look at her sleeping form on the couch he follows David upstairs.</p><p>In the bedroom, David sits at his vanity table, skincare products spread out in front of him. Mariah bounces over to him, resting her front paws on his leg. David puts the jar of cream back down on the table and drops his hand to her ears, fondling them gently until she’s had enough and goes to her bed in the corner. David opens the next jar as Patrick drops a kiss to the top of his head on his way to the ensuite. David will be a few minutes yet, he’s only on step four of nine. </p><p>Patrick squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush and leans in the doorway of the bathroom. “You’re going to have to talk to her at some point.” His words are garbled by the toothbrush, but David understands what he’s saying. </p><p>“I don’t know what you mean.” David ignores him deliberately and picks up the next bottle before leaning closer to the mirror to dab under eye serum beneath each eye.</p><p>“David.” His husband’s eyes flick to where Patrick stands in the doorway before returning to his reflection in the mirror. His mouth tightens imperceptibly as he looks away. Patrick finishes in the bathroom and pulls his sleepwear out of the small closet that is now solely his. His clothes look lonely without their black and white counterparts and he spreads out the hangers to fill the space better. Pulling on his t-shirt and pajama pants, he throws his clothes in the hamper, sitting on the end of the bed to wait for David to finish. With a final look in the mirror, David picks up a familiar container from the store and moves to stand in front of Patrick, gripping his chin gently as he dots the cream on his face. Patrick closes his eyes and waits as David’s fingers trace the same pattern they do every night, spreading the moisturizer evenly across his face. </p><p>“What am I supposed to say to her?” David hides his face, turning to put the tube on the vanity. He’s genuinely upset. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. No matter what happens—” David’s voice catches. When he speaks again, there’s a note of bitterness that Patrick hasn’t heard in a long time. “Someone’s going to get hurt and it’s probably going to be me.” </p><p>“Stevie’s not going to hurt you on purpose.” Stevie might not hurt David deliberately but he has far less confidence that the Rose family won’t lash out, catching David in the crossfire.</p><p>“You know as well as I do that might not make a difference.” David flips back the covers and crawls into bed, pulling the bedspread tight to his chin as he waits for Patrick to join him. </p><p>He slips into bed, snuggling next to David and letting him wrap his body around Patrick’s like a cuddly octopus. Surely the Roses understand how important David’s friendship with Stevie is. But when they want to, the Roses can take self-involvement to a whole new level. They might not care about Stevie or David’s good intentions. “You know I’ll be here no matter what, right?”</p><p>There’s a lengthy pause. Maybe David has fallen asleep? His voice comes out of the darkness. “That’s the only thing that makes this bearable.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Marcy comes out of the cafe and sits at one of the outdoor tables with a good view of the street that leads to David and Patrick’s house. Five minutes later, Patrick comes down the street towards her. He has Mariah on a leash beside him, as they walk towards her the little dog stops eagerly to sniff every post and bunch of grass. </p><p>“Hi Mom.” Patrick hands her the leash and wags his finger with mock-sternness at the dog. “Stay.” She smiles up at him, tail wagging. “Did you order?” She nods and he gestures to the door. “I’ll be right back.” The dog barks sharply as he leaves and he admonishes her. “Quiet.” Mariah barks again, quieter this time and Patrick tries to glare at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. </p><p>The dog stares hopefully after Patrick, her tail wags as she waits for the cafe door to open again. “Mariah. C’mere.” The dog looks up at her as Marcy calls her name. She pats the edge of her chair and the dog jumps happily into her lap. “I’m not getting grandchildren, so I’ll have to teach you bad manners instead.” </p><p>She’s scratching Mariah’s ears while the dog happily licks her chin when Patrick returns with a cup of tea and a bowl of water for Mariah. He grins at the dog in her lap. “Spoiling her already?” </p><p>“Mmm.” She scratches Mariah’s chin. ”How can I not?” She puts the dog back on the ground. Mariah slurps her water as Patrick loops the leash around one leg of his chair. “I’m glad we could do this.”</p><p>“Me too.” Patrick is more relaxed this morning. Thank goodness the awkwardness of last week’s family dinner is behind them. It’s unfamiliar, having to schedule time with her own son, like she’s making an appointment with her dentist. But after what had happened last week...Patrick had asked for this. So she’s willing to make a thousand appointments if it will prevent any future discomfort. Patrick’s been talking while she’s been lost in thought. “I talked to Rachel this morning. She said the people who bought the house painted it blue.”</p><p>“Linda said the same thing. She sent me a picture. Look.” She hands over her phone, their old house doesn’t look bad, just different from the cream and red colours it had been when they’d lived there. She wants to like it but it’s like part of her past has been erased. “Do you miss it? Living there?”</p><p>“No.” Patrick’s answer isn’t terse, just certain. His eyes meet hers and they’re soft and honest. “I wasn’t very happy then. Not like I am now.” She squeezes his hand, wishing she’d seen in him then what she sees in him now; wishing she could go back and tell that younger version of her son how everything had worked out. “What about you?”</p><p>“Here we go. Eggs Benedict and the Breakfast Special.” Twyla interrupts, setting the two plates down in front them and giving Marcy time to think about her answer. “Anything else?”</p><p>“No. Thank you Twyla.” Marcy takes a bite of her bacon. “Sometimes. I miss Linda. And the rest of the family. And I miss knowing how things work, you know?” Patrick nods. Something she hadn’t expected about moving to an unfamiliar town, was how many things people just knew because they’d lived there for years. Like the fact that Twyla always gives free refills to locals or that Mrs Schmidt at the post office will send back any parcel if she doesn’t recognize the name. An unexpected wave of solidarity washes over her. If anyone understands how it feels to be a stranger in this town, it’s her son. “But Ronnie’s been very welcoming to me—“</p><p>“That makes one of us.” Marcy smothers a smile at how the mere mention of Ronnie’s name puts a look of consternation on Patrick’s face.</p><p>“And Priya too.” Marcy takes a bite of her eggs. “I worry about your father, though.” Clint is struggling to find something to do with himself but she’s at a loss how to help him. </p><p>“Dad?” Patrick arranges his cutlery on his empty plate, passing a piece of bacon to Mariah. “Why?”</p><p>“He’s used to being busy.” She shrugs. “And now he’s not.” Patrick frowns, a pensive look on his face as he finishes the last of his breakfast. </p><p>Twyla emerges from the door of the cafe as though some sixth sense has warned her they’re finished. “Can I take your plates?” Twyla hands a flyer to Patrick as she picks up their dirty dishes. “Have you seen this?”</p><p>Patrick passes the poster across the table to her. “Oh no. David will lose his mind.”</p><p>Marcy snickers as she reads the poster aloud. “Sunrise Bay Fan Tours. Visit the Home of Television’s Moira Rose.” Patrick’s not wrong, David will definitely have things to say about this turn of events and none of them will be positive. “Well, having more people in town could be good for the store.” </p><p>“Thank you for volunteering to be the one to tell David.” Patrick smirks at her, one hand reaching down to scratch Mariah’s ears. </p><p>There’s a lot of things she’d do for her son, but telling his husband about someone using his mom to attract tourists is not one of them. “No, no, no.” She pushes the paper back at him. “That sounds like something you should talk about as business partners. Or husbands.” </p><p>“Coward.” There’s no malice to Patrick’s comment and she laughs at him as he folds up the flyer and puts it in his pocket. </p><p>“I have to go to work.” Patrick shoves his chair back and leans down to untie Mariah’s leash. He bends, kissing her quickly on the cheek. “Do you want to do this again next week?”</p><p>“I’d like that.” Patrick whistles at the dog and the two of them cross the street, Mariah bouncing happily at Patrick’s side. Marcy takes a last sip of her coffee. If she and Patrick are going to have a regular breakfast date, she should do the same with David. Of course, anything she does with David will require a much later start time.</p><p>“Marcy?” Priya’s voice startles her out of her thoughts. </p><p>“Priya. Hi. Do you want to join me?” She hasn’t seen Priya since she’d gone through the last of her business records earlier in the week. </p><p>Priya pulls out the chair Patrick had vacated. “Thank you. I was hoping I might see you while I was bringing David and Patrick more of my products. They have sold out already.” Priya beams at her, proud of her success and Marcy can’t help but smile back. </p><p>“How is your new business manager working out?” Ronnie had helped Marcy recommend some options for new business managers to Priya. After a great deal of thought, Priya had hired Ana, a young woman just out of business school. </p><p>Priya smiles. “Ana is wonderful. She has already conquered half the items on your list.” Marcy nods, pleased with the choice Priya made. Ana is young and sharp, she’ll grow with Priya as Priya takes control of her business again. “I cannot thank you enough for everything you did.”</p><p>“You’ll do the same for someone else.” </p><p>“Yes.” Priya grins at her impishly. “Ronnie will make sure of it.” Marcy smirks back at her, now that they’re both part of Ronnie’s circle, Ronnie will make sure they have plenty of opportunities to get involved.</p><p>“Oh. I meant to tell you.” Priya taps the table with her fingers, her red nails shine in the sun. “My Prisha is coming home.”</p><p>“I thought she was settled in the city?” She knows Priya especially misses her daughter.</p><p>“It is just for the summer. She has a job with an accounting firm in Elmdale. And then she will be off again, back to the city to finish her business degree.” Priya shrugs resignedly. “You are lucky, having your Patrick so close.”</p><p>“I’m not sure he feels the same way.” It’s a relief to voice her fears to someone other than Clint. She’s afraid to ask Patrick if he wants them here. Afraid that he might tell her the truth. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. “I think he might feel like we’re intruding.”</p><p>“That is just because it is new.” Priya nods decisively. Marcy wishes she had the same level of certainty.</p><p>“I hope you’re right.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>The bell over the door rings and David sets down his inventory sheet and puts on his customer service face. His fake smile morphs into a grimace when he registers the person who comes through the door.</p><p>“David Rose.” The voice is city-smooth in a way he hasn’t heard since his last trip to visit Alexis in New York. The lanky man in the black leather jacket runs a hand through his carefully tousled white-blond hair. “So the rumors are true.”</p><p>“Jackson.” Has it been ten years? Or longer? Jackson had been one of a pack of hangers-on who had flattered and fawned in exchange for David’s money and gifts. David had spent two weeks with him in the south of France, as the sun-filled days had dragged on, he’d believed that this might be the time it would lead to something more. That is until he’d woken late one morning to discover a stolen credit card and a farewell expletive scrawled on an old pizza receipt, tucked beneath a dirty wine glass on the kitchen counter. “Why do I have the pleasure of your company?”</p><p>Jackson takes the long way around the store, trailing his fingertips along David’s perfectly polished countertops and shelves, picking things up and putting them down again. “I couldn’t believe it when I ran into Alexis at the Fashion Week after party.” Jackson stops at the far end of the store, lowering his voice to draw David closer. David clenches his fingers on the edge of the counter and stays where he is. “She looks good. Your sister.”</p><p>“Thank you.” The silence builds. David digs his fingernails into his palms to keep from demanding why Jackson is in his store, why he’s in Schitt’s Creek. He used to hold conversations in his head with people like Jackson. One-sided soliloquies where he showed off everything he’d built, everything he was, trying to prove to his past that he’d made it, that he’d succeeded where they’d always thought he would fail. It’s been years since he’s given any thought to any of them.</p><p>“And here you are.” Jackson arranges himself artfully against the table opposite the cash register, his arms and legs crossed in a deliberate casualness that comes from years of artifice. “I’m surprised you didn’t come back to the city? Alexis said your husband made you stay here?” Jackson says the word ‘husband’ in the same tone that David uses to talk about Roland’s foot cream.</p><p>“That’s not— He didn’t <em>make</em> me stay.” His past desire to demonstrate his success to someone like Jackson has faded away. He doesn’t want to talk to Jackson about Patrick. Sharing the things he has will only tarnish them. “Why are you here?”</p><p>“I thought you might need a reminder of everything that you’re missing in the city.” Over Jackson’s shoulder, Patrick comes down the stairs at the back of the store and leans in the open doorway, arms crossed and Mariah at his heels.</p><p>“And what would that be?” He knows what Jackson wants, the drugs and the parties and David to foot the bill, but he wants to make him say it.</p><p>“David. You’ve made something out of nothing here, but it hardly compares to New York.” Jackson shrugs dismissively. “There are so many people who would be eager to see you.” His voice is intended to be alluring, but it just makes David’s skin crawl.</p><p>“People like you.” Given that Jackson has only ever cared about himself, David has trouble imagining he would refer to anyone else.</p><p>“We had fun together once.” There’s a fawning deference to his voice that David hasn’t heard in years. He doesn’t miss it.</p><p>“Oh my god. We had fun because I was high and you liked my money.” He leans towards Jackson who moves forward to meet him. “I choose to stay here so I wouldn’t have to deal with people like you.”</p><p>“Everything okay?” Patrick takes that moment to interject from the doorway. With exaggerated slowness, he pries himself off of the doorway, moving through the store until he’s in front of Jackson.  </p><p>Jackson looks Patrick up and down and spins back to face David. “<em>This</em> is who you turned your back on New York for? This boring accountant? Does he make you do spreadsheets to get off?” David bites his lips together. Patrick’s sex spreadsheets are none of Jackson’s business.</p><p>Patrick picks up the unspoken challenge. A broad smile spreads over his face and he holds out his hand like he’s greeting people at the Chamber of Commerce barbeque. “Patrick Brewer. And you are?”</p><p>Jackson ignores him, his attention focused on David. “I’m leaving for New York tonight. Come with me, it could be like old times.”</p><p>David’s eyes are fixed on Patrick’s face. His smile is still pinned in place, but his eyes are narrowed and intense. “Here’s the thing.” Patrick’s voice demands attention, it pulls Jackson’s focus away from David, staking his claim on the store, on the town, and on David himself. A thrill runs up his spine. Without his volition, his fingers twitch towards his husband, eager to touch. “The things David and I have together are better than anything anyone can offer in the entire city of New York.” Patrick runs his eyes derisively up Jackson’s body. “Where do you think that leaves you?”</p><p>Jackson flushes and his fists clench at his sides. If he were less of a coward, he might take a swing at Patrick. He sneers at David instead. “You can’t be serious.”</p><p>David moves closer, resting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, his fingers teasing at the back of his husband’s neck. “We’ve never been more serious about anything.”</p><p>“Can I interest you in our new organic wrinkle cream?” Patrick’s voice is sweet, almost cloying. He cocks his head to one side. “It looks like you’re getting some frown lines, just there.” He gestures to Jackson’s forehead.</p><p>Patrick might have well as punched him. Jackson’s mouth gapes open as his hand extends to touch the spot Patrick indicated. His fingers hover above his forehead before he forces them into a fist, dropping his hand back to his side. “You two deserve each other.” He spits the words at David. With one last angry glance at Patrick he turns and leaves, the bell on the door jangling loudly as he slams the door behind him.</p><p>“Well.” Patrick barely has time to get the word out before David is around the counter, his hands reaching for Patrick as his arms tighten around his husband’s shoulders.</p><p>“That was the sexiest thing you’ve done this week.” He kisses Patrick, long and slow, his tension from dealing with Jackson and the ghosts of New York evaporate under the press of Patrick’s lips. </p><p>Patrick laughs into the kiss, the curve of his lips making it messy and uncoordinated. “Should I be talking about wrinkle cream in bed?”</p><p>“Absolutely not.” He kisses Patrick again, less desperate this time. “But you can definitely use your ‘don’t fuck with my husband’ voice more often.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Okay, David.” The laughter fades from Patrick’s face and he looks serious. David’s stomach tightens. “Do you think about it? New York, I mean?”</p><p>Before he answers, Stevie pulls open the door and comes into the store. “Don’t you two do any actual work?” She sets a large bundle of envelopes on the counter by the cash register. </p><p>Reluctantly, David twists out of Patrick’s arms. He makes a face and scowls at his best friend, ignoring her question. “What are those?”</p><p>“Those are for you.” There’s a glint in her eyes he doesn’t like but he pulls the bundle toward himself. He takes the first letter out of the packet and reads the address. </p><p>
  <em>Moira Rose</em><br/>
<em>Sunrise Bay</em><br/>
<em>℅ Rosebud Motel</em><br/>
<em>Schitt’s Creek, ON</em>
</p><p>He flips through the rest of the stack. Each one is addressed in the same way. “These aren’t for me.”</p><p>“You’re the only Rose here.” Stevie shrugs matter-of-factly. He narrows his eyes at her, certain there is more to this than a bunch of misdirected mail. </p><p>“You see my dad more than I do.” He winces to himself as soon as the words leave his mouth, that might not be true for much longer.</p><p>Patrick rifles through the letters. “Look, this one is illustrated.” He holds up an envelope decorated with a tiny cartoon character that’s meant to be his mom.</p><p>“What am I supposed to do with these?” He gestures at the mail, hitting the pile with his hand. It topples over, a slow-motion avalanche that causes envelopes to cascade across the counter. </p><p>“Maybe you can become your mom’s new secretary? Either way, it’s not my problem.” With a final raise of her eyebrows, Stevie leaves as quickly as she arrived, ignoring the mail spread out on the counter. </p><p>“I can’t believe she just did that.” He can, of course. When has Stevie ever passed up an opportunity to make his life more difficult.?</p><p>“I can’t believe so many people write letters to your mom.” Patrick picks up a handful of the envelopes and flips through them. </p><p>“I know! Haven’t these people heard of email?”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>It’s two weeks until Marcy’s sixtieth birthday. Clint sits on the bench in their mud room to pull on his shoes, mulling over the possibilities. Sixty is a big deal and Marcy deserves a party. He’ll try to surprise her. Again. Maybe if he asks David to help with the planning they’ll have better luck at keeping it a surprise. He’ll stop in at the store after he goes to the cafe. Yes. David’s party-planning abilities are bound to be better than his own. Destination in mind, he steps out of his front door, forced into an awkward side-shuffle to avoid crashing into Ray. Why is Ray on his porch? Oblivious to his uncoordinated arrival, Ray is riveted to a spot on their front porch, staring up into the trees between his house and Roland and Jocelyn’s. “Ray? What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Oh, Clint. It’s so lucky that you’re here.” Ray’s voice drops to a whisper. Involuntarily, Clint leans closer as Ray continues to gawk up into the foliage.</p><p>“Why’s that?” For reasons that are unclear, he’s whispering too.</p><p>“There’s a Worm-eating Warbler in your tree.” Ray bounces softly on his toes. He lifts his binoculars and peers through them intently.</p><p>“A what?” It sounds like a name Ray made up so that Clint will ignore the fact that Ray is standing on his front porch.</p><p>“A Worm-eating Warbler. Very rare in this part of the country. You should report it to the rare bird alerts.” </p><p>“And what happens if I do that?” He’s not convinced that Ray isn’t having him on. He peers up into the trees, but there’s no sign of any birds, worm-eating or otherwise.</p><p>“Then birders from all over the region will come and look at the bird in your tree.” Ray exclaims happily. He points upwards into the dense foliage. Clint peers at where he’s pointing, but there’s nothing. “Look, there it is.” Ray calls softly to the bird. “Pish, pish, pish”</p><p>There’s no reaction from any birds, worm-eating or otherwise. “I don’t think I want that.”</p><p>“Are you sure? It would be quite an honor. Look.” Ray holds out the binoculars. The strap is still around his neck and Clint has to step uncomfortably close so to bend down and peer through the eye pieces. There’s a brief flash of yellow and black that might be a bird. Or a butterfly. Or a plastic bag. </p><p>He straightens up and hands the binoculars back to Ray. “Well. Stay as long as you like.” Ray mumbles an acknowledgement, he’s staring through his binoculars at the trees, whispering to himself as Clint walks away.</p><p>Clint approaches the door of the cafe, intent on getting a muffin and a coffee before he goes to the Apothecary to see David and Patrick, when a lanky blond man bursts through it, talking loudly on his phone. “The rumors are true! David’s married, if you can believe it! To someone who looks like a vacuum-cleaner salesman.” Clint changes his mind about going inside, the other man continues as though he’s not even there. “That’s besides the point. I thought he’d at least be good for a quick fuck, you know?” Slowly, the other man realizes he’s being watched. He lowers the phone from his ear. “What do you want?”</p><p>“What’s your name?” Clint’s never been the type of man to pick a fight with a random person on the street, but if this goes wrong, today might be the day. He won’t regret it if it comes down to it. </p><p>“Jackson.” The other man answers reflexively, a sneer painting his lips. There’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. Maybe today won’t be the day Marcy gives him hell for coming home with a bloody nose like a belligerent eight-year-old. </p><p>“Well, Jackson. That’s my son-in-law you’re talking about and I think I speak for the entire family when I say you’re not welcome here.” David probably doesn’t need someone to protect him, but he can’t help himself.</p><p>“Who are you people? You think David Rose is some kind of saint?” Jackson scoffs at him, cruelty etched on his face. </p><p>David is vain and capricious and all too willing to tell everyone exactly what he thinks of them. He’s far from perfect but he makes Patrick happier than he’s ever been in his life and for that, Clint would do a lot more than have an angry conversation with the man in front of him. “No. I think he’s the man who loves my son.”</p><p>“David has never loved anyone but himself.” Clint moves closer to the other man and has the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. “One day you’ll see who David Rose really is.”</p><p>“Sounds like you don’t know him at all.” He pulls himself up to his full height until, with a muttered curse, Jackson scampers down the steps, beeping an expensive BMW that’s parked nearby. Clint waits until the car drives out of sight before crossing the road to the Apothecary.</p><p>Laughter rushes out at him as soon as he opens the door. Patrick waves a handful of letters in David’s face while his husband scowls at him, hands on his hips.  “I can’t tell my mom, she’ll make me open them all.” David waves his clenched fist at the letters. “Why can’t I just throw them in the garbage?”</p><p>Clint can’t keep from interjecting. “You don’t want to do that, interfering with mail is a federal crime.” Patrick raises an eyebrow at him as he comes closer. All the letters are addressed to Moira. “Did you mug a mailman?”</p><p>“Fan mail for Moira. Apparently people have been sending it to the motel.” Patrick leans against the counter, a smirk on his face as he enjoys David’s distress. </p><p>There’s a buzzing noise and David unearths his phone from beneath the letters. “Alexis says we can open them.”</p><p>Patrick takes the top letter from the pile and opens it carefully with the letter opener. “Dear Moira...love you in Sunrise Bay...please send a photo of your feet.” </p><p>“Ew. This one is all about feet as well! Ew.” David tosses his letter back down on the pile. “It is much too early to be thinking about my mom’s feet.”</p><p>“Did you know that you can make cheese from foot sweat?” Clint had read that in an article at his podiatrist’s office. “Not to eat, of course…” David squawks and disappears into the back room, throwing a disgusted look over his shoulder. </p><p>Patrick pulls an empty box from under the counter and sweeps the mail into it. “I think you went too far.”</p><p>His grin falls away as he remembers the man at the cafe. “Listen, I ran into this unpleasant man at the cafe who was saying some terrible things about David.” He doesn’t care about David’s past, but Patrick should know in case Jackson causes trouble. </p><p>Patrick shoves the last few letters in the top of the box. “Blond?” Clint nods. “Yeah, he was here.” Unconcerned, Patrick tucks in the flaps of the box.</p><p>“Well, I— I just wanted to make sure David was okay.” </p><p>Patrick leans on the box. “David used to have a lot of awful people in his life. But that was a long time ago.” He picks up the box and carries it into the back room, calling for David. “We’re done talking about feet now if you want to come out.”</p><p>David looks at him suspiciously as he comes back through the curtain, a box of products in his hand. Clint suppresses the desire to wind David up even more. He’s here to ask for a favor, this is probably not the best time. “I did want your help, David.”</p><p>“For the record, talking about foot cheese is a bad start.” David takes a bottle out of the box and sets it precisely on the table beside the others. </p><p>“Good to know.” He exchanges a grin with Patrick and David rolls his eyes. “Marcy’s birthday is coming up and I could use your help planning a surprise party.”</p><p>There’s a long pause. David sets down the box. “Are you wedded to a surprise party?” </p><p>“I thought it could be fun.” He loves the way Marcy laughs when he tries to surprise her, the way her face crinkles up. He’s terrible at surprises. Marcy always knows when he’s keeping a secret, but they both appreciate the game. </p><p>“I see.” David takes another bottle out of the box and places it carefully beside the first one. “It’s just that, historically, I don’t have a very good success rate with surprise parties.”</p><p>“Have you ever successfully hosted a surprise party?” Patrick interjects from behind the counter, a wide grin on his face.</p><p>“I’ll have you know that I once organized a week-long surprise party to celebrate Lindsay Lohan’s second stint in rehab.” Glimpses of David’s past shouldn’t surprise him but they always catch him off guard.</p><p>“So not lately, then.” Patrick’s smirk gets even bigger as he teases his husband.</p><p>Pointedly, David ignores Patrick. “And have we decided on a theme? Or a location? Or decorations?”</p><p>“Marcy likes blue. I’m sure we can figure it out.” David is bound to have firm opinions. Best to give him full rein right off the bat. </p><p>“I’m sure.” David’s face twists into a look that’s part smile, part grimace. “What could go wrong?”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Patrick takes a seat at the counter, waiting for Twyla to bring their takeout order. It’s busier than usual and Twyla is tending tables on the other side of the cafe. He scrolls through the store’s Instagram account. Did they promote the restock of Heather’s goat cheese? Twyla sets the bag with the to-go containers in front of him. </p><p>“Club sandwiches today.” Ordering the special isn’t as risky as it used to be. Even David takes his chances most days.</p><p>“Thanks Twyla.” He puts his phone in his pocket and gathers up the bag. </p><p>Even though it’s the middle of the lunch rush, she lingers for a moment. “I know you’re busy, but some friends of mine are hosting some jam sessions here at the cafe.” Twyla picks up a pair of plates from the kitchen pass-through. “Nothing too serious. Just a chance to get together and play and sing a little.” Twyla tries to shrug as she moves around the counter, but with the heavy plates, the best she can do is bob her head. “I thought you might be interested.”</p><p>“Um. I’ll think about it.” He misses having a group of friends to play with. Playing by himself is usually short-lived, brought to an abrupt end by the run of David’s hand or the curve of his smile. He used to play with other people all the time, practicing with his friends for open mic nights. But now, it’s another night away from David when their time alone together already feels stretched and precious. </p><p>He gathers up the bag with the sandwiches. He’s been restless and out of sorts since the encounter with Jackson this morning. Jackson was pretentious and arrogant, like someone had tried to make an incomplete clone of David had forgotten to include all the best bits. Why does he care? It’s not like Jackson is the first person to call him boring. But the word sticks under Patrick’s skin, an itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t scratch. The past five years have been everything he’s ever wanted. But maybe he wants the next five to be different. </p><p>The rest of the day moves through its usual motions. He kisses David behind the counter and restocks the hand soap. David rings up a two hundred dollar sale for a wedding shower and Patrick takes Mariah for her walk. Ronnie stops in to consult with David about their latest design as Patrick makes himself scarce in the back room. And even as he finds comfort in the routine he can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s not too late to explore what might have been.</p><p>He’d worried that he’d never make David happy here, that he was holding him back from the bigger and brighter things. Now, he worries that he’s held himself back. He doesn’t want the life in New York that David had once been excited about. But he’s not sure if this is all he wants either. If he’s satisfied with the familiar pattern of their lives. And now, with his parents here— The restless itch turns to a weight, pinning him in place, taking away his choice to ever leave this place.</p><p>The thoughts consume him for the rest of the day; he chews on them, prickly and uncomfortable as they walk home and ease into their evening routine. “Everything okay?” David sets a glass of wine in front of him and squeezes his shoulder. He picks up the knife he’d been using to chop vegetables for dinner and starts again. </p><p>“Yeah. It’s fine.” He’s just out of sorts because Jackson was an asshole and he doesn’t enjoy being reminded of David’s past. That’s all. It’s always disconcerting to be reminded of David’s life before they met, of how much he’s changed. He scoops up the carrots and puts them in a bowl. </p><p>“Okay. It’s just that you’re staring into space with that look you get when your plans aren’t going right.” David’s fingers lock onto his shoulder, a sure sign that his husband has picked up on some of what’s going on in his head.</p><p>“I don’t have a look.” He deflects away from the things he’s not ready to talk about, hoping David will go with him.  </p><p>“Oh honey, you definitely have a look.” David releases his shoulder and adjusts the volume on the bluetooth speaker and Mariah Carey’s latest song blasts into the kitchen. Pulling the knife from Patrick’s hand David draws Patrick towards him, hips swaying to the beat. </p><p>Graceful isn’t the first word he would use to describe David. But his bulky sweaters and drop-crotch pants disguise an athletic frame that has both the strength to lift Patrick and hold him in place against a wall and the agility to move seamlessly around a dance floor. David pulls him into his arms and he does his best to match the way David moves his body. He wouldn’t trade these moments for anything but maybe there are different memories for them to create together. </p><p>David guides them around the kitchen, humming roughly under his breath as he makes up the lyrics he doesn’t know. Patrick is loose and giggly, his body in sync with David’s when without warning, David dips him, lowering his face next to Patrick’s, his black eyes sparkling. “Stop it.”</p><p>“Stop what?” He’s breathless, his earlier thoughts scattered by David’s unexpected silliness.</p><p>“Stop thinking so hard.” David frowns at him, his lips are so close that Patrick can’t help but lean into them, pressing an off balance kiss to the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“I’m only thinking about you, baby.” He turns the key on lockbox where he keeps his uneasy thoughts, carefully stowing the imaginary key in a safe place.</p><p>“Liar.” David spins him back upright. Thrown by the sudden movement, he clutches at his husband’s shoulders as David throws his head back and laughs. </p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>For the first time in months, David pulls open the door of the cafe at exactly eight thirty. Even though he’s precisely on time, Stevie is already waiting for him, scrolling through her phone, a cup of coffee in front of her as she sits in their usual booth. He slides in across from her. “Did Patrick kick you out of the house this morning?”</p><p>“Why would you say such an awful thing?” Other than Stevie’s spontaneous mail delivery the day before, it’s been two days since they’ve seen each other and more than a week since Stevie had told him about her plans for the Rosebud. They’ve both been ignoring that conversation and it hangs over the table, waiting to pounce.</p><p>“I assumed there must have been a catastrophe for you to get here on time.” </p><p>He scowls at her, smiling at Twyla when she sets his usual coffee order in front of him. “If you must know, Patrick had to get to the store early to meet a vendor, so I had no choice.” </p><p>“Good to know that being on time is always your priority.” Stevie takes a sip of her coffee and changes the subject. “I hear you had a visitor yesterday.”</p><p>“What— How did you hear that?” He hasn’t given Jackson a second thought, but he doesn’t like the idea that reminders of his past circulate around town the same way people talk about Roland’s foot cream.</p><p>Stevie shrugs. “Patrick texted me.” </p><p>Despite his many complaints over the years, Stevie and Patrick have maintained an ongoing text chain that David suspects is mostly about him. He scowls his disapproval at her. “It was nobody.”</p><p>“So you don’t want to go back to New York?” Even more than Patrick, Stevie is the one person who understands his complicated feelings about New York, maybe even better than he does himself. Nothing about yesterday’s conversation with Jackson makes him miss New York.  All he’d felt was resentment that the other man was interfering in his life, that he dared to sneer at Patrick. </p><p>“There’s nothing for me in New York.” He’d made that choice years ago and he doesn’t regret it. </p><p>“Did you tell Patrick that?” Patrick had asked him about New York after Jackson had left and then they’d gotten interrupted. Was that what had been bothering him last night? He’d definitely been holding something back.</p><p>“Why— Patrick knows I don’t want to go back to New York. Doesn’t he? What did he tell you?” Patrick can’t possibly still believe that David wants to leave Schitt’s Creek, can he? Dread he’d thought long vanquished unfurls inside him. </p><p>“It’s probably nothing.” Twyla sets their plates down in front of them and Stevie continues once she’s gone. “But maybe you should, I don’t know, talk to your husband once in a while?”</p><p>“Mmm.” He doesn’t want to talk about Patrick or New York anymore. “You look very nice this morning.” Stevie is wearing the Ann Taylor suit he’d picked out for her. The days where plaid makes up most of her wardrobe are long behind them and experience tells him that she must be on her way out of town for a meeting since no one in Schitt’s Creek warrants this effort. Except himself, and Stevie refuses to dress properly for him, no matter how much he hassles her about it.</p><p>Stevie goes still for a moment before she takes a bite of her eggs. “I have a meeting with the investment group.” He’s been trying to pretend last week’s conversation with Stevie had never happened, silently hoping that she’d never bring it up again. A vain, ridiculous hope destined to come crashing down on top of him.</p><p>“So you’re moving ahead with the takeover then.” The conversation they’ve been avoiding clatters onto the table, pushing everything else out of its path.</p><p>“David…” Stevie puts down her fork, a pained look on her face. “I can’t make business decisions based on what’s best for your family.”</p><p>He scrubs his hands over his face. He can’t choose between Stevie and his family. “I know.” Would this have been different if he and Patrick had gone to New York all those years ago? Would it feel less like he might be forced to give up his best friend? </p><p>“Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this since I put you in this situation, but your family can’t force you to take sides.”</p><p>“Have you met my family?” They’re so far away. He wishes Alexis was still in the same room. Okay, maybe not in the same room. But down the hall, at least. And if his parents were closer, maybe they could work things out with Stevie before anything bad happens.  </p><p>“I have, in fact, met your family.” Stevie looks at him sympathetically. He hates that she’s trying to be nice to him. In the entirety of their friendship, neither of them has ever been nice and it’s worked out just fine. Better than fine. He can’t have a best friend that’s nice to him or the next thing he knows they’ll be buying each other presents and using heart emojis in their text chains. </p><p>“Then you know that you’ll be lucky if my mom doesn’t send you a shipping container filled with live crows.”</p><p>“Honestly, I’m more worried about your dad. He gave me this opportunity and I’m going to break his heart.” Once he’d resented the way his dad views Stevie as his heir-apparent but mostly he’s glad to avoid the pressure and his dad’s onslaught of off-brand ideas. Stevie is right, her betrayal will devastate his dad. </p><p>Normally, it would make him feel better to know that Stevie is suffering, but it just makes him sad. He grimaces at her and finishes his breakfast, trading gossip about Jocelyn’s move to incorporate more bunnies in her sweatshirt collection and the latest about Oprah. He says goodbye to Stevie a few minutes before nine thirty, a hollow feeling filling his chest when he thinks about their conversation. </p><p>Mariah dashes to meet him when he opens the door of the store, sliding to an abrupt stop in front of him and sitting politely. He digs a treat out of his pocket, scratching her ears. </p><p>“I never thought I’d see it.” Patrick smirks at him from behind the counter, online order sheets in a stack in front of him as he taps away at one of his spreadsheets.</p><p>“What?” He pulls off his sunglasses and pats at the Rick Owens sweater he’d chosen that morning. It looks good. He looks good. He frowns at Patrick.</p><p>“David Rose with dog treats in his pockets.” He stands up, ignoring the way his knees creak as he moves. </p><p>“The dog treats ensure exemplary behavior and reduce the amount of dog hair I get on my clothes. So…” He comes around the counter, brushing his lips across Patrick’s temple.</p><p>“How was Stevie?”</p><p>“Fine.” Patrick gives him an exasperated look, making him roll his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Patrick’s collar is rucked up in the back, he smooths it out, letting his fingers linger at the back of his neck. “Nothing’s changed.” He doesn’t want to talk to Patrick about Stevie any more than he’d wanted to talk to Stevie about Patrick. “Are you okay down here? I need to finish something up for Ronnie.” </p><p>“Sure.” Patrick pulls him close, one hand firm on the back of his neck as he kisses him. “We don’t want to make Ronnie angry.”</p><p>He pulls back, checking for signs of unhappiness, but Patrick just smirks at him. “Okay. Come, Mariah.”</p><p>Upstairs, he pulls out the drawings for the latest project with Ronnie. Instead of sketching in the latest details, he opens his phone and FaceTimes his sister. </p><p>“David!” It’s nice, having his sister be happy to hear from him. He hopes she’ll still feel that way after Stevie drops her bombshell. He misses her suddenly, an unexpected stab of longing that jabs through him. She’s selfish and flighty but more than anyone else, Alexis understands him in a way no one else does. Alexis. Patrick. Stevie. Each of them knows him better than he’d thought possible. He shakes his head, needing to focus on the other things he has on his mind today.</p><p>“Did you tell Jackson where I am?” Alexis would never have encouraged Jackson to come to Schitt’s Creek, but discretion has never defined her.</p><p>“Of course not! I might have told him you’d gotten married and about the store, but that’s it.” Once he would have wanted to show off, to force the people from his past to acknowledge that he’s won but now… he knows he’s won and maybe that’s enough.</p><p>“That’s basically the same thing.” He paces back and forth in front of the sofa by the windows. The sunlight streams through and Mariah flops down in the sunbeam, rolling on her back to soak up the warmth.</p><p>“Well, I’m sorry if I told one of your old friends how proud am I of you.” Alexis rolls her eyes at him and it reminds him of dozens of nights spent sitting across from each other on the twin beds of the motel room learning the language that allows them to share secrets with one another. “And sit down, you’re making me dizzy.”</p><p>“Ugh.” He tries to scowl, but the smile creeps over his face against his will. </p><p>“Why does it matter, anyway?” There’s a muffled sound and he gets a quick view of Alexis’s ceiling before his sister comes back in the frame. She has a nail file in one hand and she’s propped the phone up so she can file and talk at the same time. </p><p>“He showed up here.” He perches on the edge of the couch, checking his cuticles.</p><p>“What?” Alexis looks genuinely shocked. She puts down the file and leans closer to the screen. “Is Patrick okay?”</p><p>“What do you mean, is Patrick okay?”</p><p>“You know he gets wound up when he’s confronted with people from your past. He didn’t hit him, did he?” He doesn’t want Patrick to go around hitting people. Blood is too difficult to get out of cashmere, for one thing. But it gives him a little zing nonetheless.</p><p>“Of course Patrick didn’t hit him.” He chews on his lip, considering. That would explain whatever Patrick had been avoiding talking about last night. There had been no sign of whatever had been bothering him this morning. “He’s fine.” He tries to steer the conversation back to his real reason for calling. “Listen, I need your help. It’s Marcy’s birthday next weekend and I have to plan a surprise party.”</p><p>“Oh, you poor thing.” Alexis pouts at him through the screen. “It’s not going to be easy for me to plan a party from here, but I guess I could clear my schedule.”</p><p>“I don’t need you to plan it. I just need to know if you think Marcy would prefer an evening garden party or an under the sea theme for her birthday party.”</p><p>“Are you sure, David? We both know your track record with surprise parties.” Alexis taps the tabletop in front of the phone with her index finger, making her phone bounce up and down.</p><p>“That happened twice. Let it go.” It’s not his fault that circumstances conspire to ruin his carefully planned surprises. With luck there won’t be any last minute bombshells to upset the evening.</p><p>“Definitely the garden party. Where are you going to find singing mermaids in Schitt’s Creek?”</p><p>“Okay.” He wants to ask his sister about Stevie’s proposed takeover but his promise to Stevie sticks in his throat. “Alexis. Do you— do you think Dad will ever retire?” He can’t picture it but he has to ask. </p><p>“Retire? He’s having way too much fun in his little office to think about retiring.” She’s probably right. His dad won’t retire until he’s forced to. Something that might happen sooner than later once Stevie’s plan comes to fruition.</p><p>“Yeah.” He looks down at the drawings from Ronnie. She’ll be here any minute. “I have to go.”</p><p>“If you need my help with the party, I could fly up.” </p><p>“That’s not necessary. Bye Alexis.”</p><p>“Are you sure—”</p><p>“Byyeee.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Patrick wakes up and stares at the ceiling. His eyes drift to the spot in the corner where he had accidentally splattered some paint when David had distracted him while they were painting the bedroom all those years ago. He’d promised David he would touch it up, but he never has. Secretly, he likes the reminder of those days, before they moved in their house. Beside him, David snuffles in his sleep, his head resting on Patrick’s arm. Carefully, he slides out from beside his sleeping husband, planting a soft kiss on his exposed cheek. Gathering up some clothes, he pulls on his hiking clothes in the ensuite before whispering softly to Mariah and heading downstairs. </p><p>He lets Mariah into the back yard and follows her down the stairs into the garden. Normally, wandering through the raised beds would soothe him as he checks on the progress of his tomatoes and whispers to the bee balm that’s about to bloom any day now. But today restless energy burns inside him, if he doesn’t burn it off, he’ll be irritable and out of sorts for the rest of the day. Going back inside, he grabs Mariah’s leash and a granola bar for the road; he turns on the timer on the coffee maker and leaves a note for David.</p><p>In the car, Mariah excitedly bounces in the passenger seat, her tongue lolling as she watches out the window. He’s felt out of sorts for weeks now, like everything is a little out of focus. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, wishing he’d cued up some music for the trip, even though it’s only a ten-minute drive. He shoves the last bite of granola bar into his mouth as he pulls up to the trailhead for Roberts Point. An orange barricade sits across the trail, a sign tacked onto the middle. </p><p>“Stay here.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car to read the sign. </p><p>
  <strong>CLOSED</strong><br/>
<strong>By orders of Schitt’s Creek Town Council</strong><br/>
<strong>Please direct questions and concerns to 555-9370</strong>
</p><p>His restlessness intensifies. He peers up the trail, trying to see if there’s a reason the trail is closed, but the trail stretches up the hillside as normal before it curves out of sight. Damn. He checks the time. Six fifteen. It’s early, but there’s one person who might be up at this hour.</p><p><strong>Patrick:</strong> Are you awake?</p><p>He clips the retractable leash to Mariah’s collar and she jumps out of the car to snuffle in the grass beside the parking lot. Moments later, his phone rings.</p><p>“Most people are asleep at this hour.” Rachel’s voice is warm and amused.</p><p>“And yet, you called me.” Sometimes they talk several times a week. Other times, like this, it’s been a couple of weeks since they last spoke. And yet, every time he talks to her it’s like no time has passed at all.</p><p>“Mmm hmm.” There’s a lengthy pause as he listens to her breathe on the other end of the phone.</p><p>She knows him too well. In some ways, she’s still the one who knows him better than David does. “Patrick. Why am I calling you?”</p><p>“An old friend of David’s showed up at the store last week.” Is that the right place to start? Maybe. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, anyway.</p><p>“And he’s nostalgic for New York now?” When it had looked like he and David would move to New York, Rachel had been the one he’d called to talk things through. </p><p>“No. No, not at all.” He leans against the car and picks at his thumbnail as Mariah snuffles at the base of a nearby tree. He takes a deep breath and says the words that have been nagging at him for days. “What if we should have moved to the city? What if we missed the opportunity?”</p><p>She laughs at him. “Patrick. You would have hated the city. What’s going on?” </p><p>He shakes his head before remembering that she can’t see him. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Patrick.” Her voice is soft now. “Just because Clint and Marcy moved to Schitt’s Creek, that doesn’t mean you have an obligation to live there forever.” The breath rushes out of him all at once. Her ability to see the things he’s hiding from himself is something he’s always loved and hated about their relationship. “Have you talked to David?”</p><p>“Not yet.” Now that he can find the edges of what’s bothering him, it will be easier to talk to David. As soon as they have some time together.</p><p>“Patrick…” Amused resignation rushes across the phone call. </p><p>“I know. I will. Promise.” In the background, there’s a muffled cry.</p><p>“Gabe’s awake, I have to go.” </p><p>“Okay. Thanks, Rach.”</p><p>“Next time, let’s do this at a more reasonable hour, yeah?”</p><p>He ends the call as Mariah rolls on her back on the grass. Now that Rachel has named the feeling that’s been building inside him, the shape of it is clear; the invisible pressure that’s been pushing down on him, the unspoken expectation that now that his parents live here, he’ll be forced to live in Schitt’s Creek for the rest of his life. </p><p>His mom will be so hurt if they leave. He’d left his parents behind once before and it had hurt them. To do it again…he’s not sure he wants that or if he just wants the option. He opens the car door and Mariah jumps inside. He needs to talk to David.</p><p>When he gets home, David is sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in front of him, scrolling on his phone. He’s still wearing his softest Tom Ford sleep pants and his striped Comme des Garcons long-sleeved shirt. He raises an eyebrow at Patrick. “Did you get it out of your system?”</p><p>“Maybe.” He nudges David’s chair back from the table until there’s enough room for him to sink into David’s lap, slipping his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit off lately.” They need to talk but it’s almost time to go to the store and he doesn’t want to stop in the middle of an important conversation. It can wait a little longer.</p><p>David’s hands wrap around his waist, stroking gently at his hips. “Have you been talking to Rachel?”</p><p>He combs his hands through David’s hair, scratching lightly. David tips his head to chase the sensation. “Yep. She says hi.”</p><p>“Hmm.” David’s eyes slip closed as Patrick’s fingers tug gently at his black curls.</p><p>“I think I’m still adjusting to my parents living here. And what that means.” </p><p>“At least you don’t have to share a motel room with them.” David’s right, it could be worse. He suddenly has a new appreciation for the three years that David spent living at the motel.</p><p>“Thank goodness.” He tilts David’s head to the right angle and kisses him deeply. “Look what happened to you.”</p><p>“Ha.” David’s arms tighten, cuddling him closer. </p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“So I think we should have a tent, because I’m not making that mistake again.” Clint follows David’s finger as he taps his open sketchbook on the counter between them. “And a pizza oven, because it’s not a party without pizza.”</p><p>“Um, okay, but this seems like a lot. I was thinking drinks, dinner, casual conversation.” His son-in-law freezes, hands caught in mid-air. Is David going to make a big production out of Marcy’s birthday? They don’t have much time and he knows she’d prefer a simple party with friends and family.</p><p>“Oh thank god.” David sets his pen down on the paper. “Between you and me, a week and a half is not enough time to properly organize a party of this magnitude. I mean, I would have done an exceptional job, but still.” </p><p>“What if we had it at our place?” Patrick is restocking the candles at the back of the store, Clint hadn’t even been sure if he’d been listening. “We could put up those patio lights you’ve been wanting. And if the weather’s bad, we could move it indoors.”</p><p>David’s eyes light up and he flips to a fresh page, scribbling new ideas on the clean sheet. David is in his element. His hand is quick and sure as he makes the sketch, a list of notes appearing on one side as sketches of decorating ideas emerge on the other. “I mood boarded a few ideas and I think they’ll translate to a smaller event.” David opens his phone and passes it to Clint, he scrolls through a string of images of outdoor dinner tables and flower arrangements and food ideas.</p><p>“How many?” David looks at him expectantly, pencil posed above the page.</p><p>“Sorry?” The onslaught of images had distracted him from David’s plan. David has a good eye, his ideas are exactly the style Marcy would have chosen for herself. </p><p>“How many guests?”</p><p>“The four of us and Ronnie and Dulce.” Over David’s shoulder, Patrick makes a face. “And Priya and her husband. And Stevie and Twyla. Ten in total.”</p><p>“Okay. Let me—” The bell jingles and Marcy steps inside. The three of them freeze in place. David’s plan for the party flows across the pages of his sketchbook. The words at the top of the page read <em>Marcy’s Surprise Party</em> in David’s elegant handwriting. </p><p>“Mom.”</p><p>“Marcy.”</p><p>“Sweetheart.”</p><p>They stand frozen in place, like deer in the headlights. For a long moment, all four of them stare at each other, waiting to see who will speak first. </p><p>“What, um, what are you doing here?” As casually as he can, Clint flips David’s sketchbook closed.</p><p>“I thought I might take my husband for lunch at the cafe. No offense, boys.” </p><p>With artificial casualness, David rests his hands on top of the closed sketchbook, placing one hand over his phone, still open to his mood boarded garden party pictures. </p><p>“No, not at all.”</p><p>“Great idea!” David and Patrick speak together, their voices falsely bright.</p><p>His fake smile stretches at his lips. David and Patrick have similar expressions on their faces. “That sounds lovely, sweetheart.”</p><p>Marcy frowns. “Is everything okay? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>Once again he and Patrick reply too quickly. David leaps into the conversation. “We were just discussing the latest episode of House Hunters. Clint, I had no idea you were such a big fan.”</p><p>“Yes, I love hunting houses. Did you know that in Scotland it’s customary to paint your door red when you pay off your mortgage?” David blinks, confused, and he continues as smoothly as he can. “David, I can’t wait to talk to you about Home Hunters again soon.”</p><p>Marcy pats his arm and steers him towards the door. “Okay, sweetheart, I think we need to get you out of the house more.”</p><p>Behind him, as he and Marcy step outside, David mutters to Patrick. “That went well.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” David grumbles at his husband as he pulls on his favorite Rick Owens high-tops. </p><p>“Am I making you?” Patrick tucks his guitar back into its case, flipping the clasps on the sides. “I thought this was more of an ‘if you want to come’ situation.”</p><p>“I,” David gestures pointedly to himself. “Am a supportive husband. So therefore, just by providing the opportunity you’re making me.” He wraps the laces around his ankles, knotting them precisely before taking one last look in the hall mirror. </p><p>“Oh, I see.” Patrick hooks his chin over David’s shoulder. He scrunches down, just a little, to make it easier for Patrick, who kisses him behind the ear. Patrick takes his keys from the bowl by the door. “It’s a good thing that Stevie will be there to support you in your hour of need.”</p><p>“I’m mostly coming for the food.” It’s a lie, even with the improvements that Twyla has made, he wouldn’t spend his evening hanging out at the cafe if it wasn’t for Patrick. </p><p>“I love it when you support me, honey.” Patrick locks the door behind them and stows his guitar in the back seat. Tonight is the first of the jam sessions that Twyla is hosting at the cafe. Even though it’s not a public performance, Twyla had assured him that he and Stevie were welcome to watch from one of the empty booths.</p><p>Inside the cafe, the tables at the front have been cleared away and the hard-backed chairs have been shoved into a rough circle. David kisses Patrick’s cheek as he sets his guitar beside one of the chairs. His husband is already distracted, talking to the other musicians as he pulls some sheet music out of his guitar case. David tucks himself into the booth furthest from the circle and waits for Stevie.</p><p>“Can I get you something?” Twyla slides a plate of appetizers into the middle of the table. “We’re not really doing table service tonight, but if you want drinks, I can get you set up.”</p><p>“A bottle of red?” </p><p>“Two bottles.” Stevie slides into the booth across from him, dressed in her usual plaid. </p><p>“Oh, I didn’t know we were getting serious tonight.” One bottle between them will give him a pleasant buzz. He hopes Patrick is prepared to look after them after two bottles.</p><p>“Well, we are.” Stevie half-glares at him from across the table.</p><p>“Got it. Two bottles of red.” Twyla gives them her biggest smile. It’s her only smile. What it must be like to greet the world with that level of sustained happiness? He doesn’t think he would like it.</p><p>Across the room, half a dozen people have joined Patrick, pulling different instruments out of cases and tuning them. Scattered around the circle are a couple of guitars, a mandolin and, he shudders to himself, an accordion. Patrick catches him watching and he tries to wink, both eyes falling shut in his failed attempt. Twyla sets the two bottles of wine and a pair of glasses on the table. “Have fun, you guys.”</p><p>“So. Why is this a two bottle evening?” He helps himself to one of the popcorn shrimp from the appetizer platter, savoring the sharp crunch. </p><p>“Work’s been really stressful. We bought out the White Diamond Motel Group and now we have 35 new motels to integrate into our inventory and I have to go to New York again and my assistant is leaving to start his own business.” Stevie takes a deep breath and gulps her wine. “And, the buyout deal is coming together.”</p><p>“Okay, well, I don’t think we should talk about any of that.” He definitely doesn’t want to talk about Stevie’s deal with Roland, especially not over two bottles of wine. Patrick starts to sing, pulling his attention back to the jam circle. The lyrics are faint but he can just make them out. </p><p>
  <em>...you're gonna be the one that saves me…</em><br/>
<em>...you're my wonderwall…</em>
</p><p>Of course Patrick is singing fucking Wonderwall, like he’s seranading David at a high school house party. Two can play this game. He ignores Patrick as best he can. “I’m going to need you for emotional support on Saturday for Marcy’s birthday.”</p><p>“I thought I was giving you emotional support tonight.” Stevie takes another drink, her glass is nearly empty. </p><p>“Clearly, I’m the one providing the emotional support tonight.” Patrick is singing again. It’s a different song, but no less annoying. </p><p>
  <em>...you’re the meaning in my life…</em><br/>
<em>...you’re the inspiration…</em>
</p><p>He’ll just ignore him. Patrick knows a library of cheesy songs, it’s not like anyone else knows he’s singing them <em>at</em> David. Aiming a second scowl at his husband, who grins beatifically back at him, David takes another drink of his wine. Between Stevie’s work stress and Patrick’s trolling, the two bottles of wine aren’t going to last. He pours a full glass, emptying the first bottle and settling in to trade gossip with Stevie.   </p><p>“...and then, Jocelyn offered him a Nanaimo bar like nothing had happened.” David joins Stevie in a cascade of giggles.</p><p>“Someone had a good time tonight.” Patrick stands beside their table, his guitar case in hand.</p><p>“Patrick!” David struggles to stand and slide out of the booth at the same time. The edge of the table stops his forward momentum and he glares at it. How dare this piece of furniture keep him from his husband? He paws at Patrick’s arm. “No more songs?”</p><p>“Not tonight.” Patrick steps back to give him more room to get out of the booth. The edges of the room are slightly fuzzy. </p><p>“Don’t go.” He fumbles his way out of the booth as Patrick struggles to hide his smile. He stumbles forward, grabbing Patrick’s arm to steady himself. In response, Patrick wraps his free arm around his waist. </p><p>“I won’t leave you here. Stevie, do you want to go home or do you want to sleep in our guest room?” Stevie has crawled out of the other side of the booth, she’s clinging to the banquette, holding herself upright.</p><p>“Stevie’s coming with us.” He’s standing now, swaying into the grip Patrick has on his hip. “She’s my friend and I love her and she’s coming home with us.” Patrick is here. He needs to kiss Patrick. He pushes his lips into Patrick’s face. Wait. He doesn’t want Patrick to think he doesn’t love him. “I love you too. Not like I love Stevie. Different. ‘Cause I love you in sexy ways.” He paws happily at Patrick’s chest, letting his hand drift lower until Patrick shimmies his hips out of the way. </p><p>“Okay, David. C’mon Stevie.” Patrick steers them to the exit. Twyla clears the last tray of dishes from one of the tables. “Thanks, Twyla.”</p><p>Outside, he staggers as the cool evening air hits him. Patrick guides them down the steps of the cafe to his car, the three of them move unevenly across the broken pavement. Patrick opens the back door of the car and Stevie scrambles inside. Patrick closes the door behind her and leads David to the passenger door. “I love you.”</p><p>“I know. C’mon, in the car.” Patrick tugs gently at his hip, but he stands firm. He has something important to say.</p><p>“No, you don’t understand. I love you.” This is important. Why can’t Patrick understand how important this is?</p><p>“I love you too. Let’s go home.” Patrick pushes on his arm, encouraging him towards the open door. </p><p>“Yes. Home.” He gets into the car, stopping halfway and grasping the door for support. “But Patrick?” Patrick still doesn’t get it. He’ll have to tell him again.</p><p>“Yes?” Patrick clips off the word, his hand insistent on David’s back. He just needs to say one thing. </p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“Okay, David. We need to go home now, so if you love me, you need to get in the car.” Patrick pushes him forward, one hand coming up to cup the back of David’s head as he bends down. </p><p>“Okay.” He half falls, half slides into the front seat and Patrick closes the door behind him. Patrick’s gone. Where did Patrick go? There’s something important he has to tell him. What if he’s just going to leave him here and David never gets to tell him? From the back seat, Stevie snores softly. “Stevie!” He hisses her name. “Stevie! Patrick’s gone!”</p><p>“Mmphf?” Stevie lifts her head a few millimeters off her folded arm, her eyes are closed. </p><p>The driver’s door opens making him flinch. “Patrick!” He beams at his husband. “You came back!”</p><p>“Yep.” Patrick puts the key in the ignition and David pats clumsily at his leg. Why is Patrick so far away?</p><p>“Patrick, I have to tell you something.” He paws more insistently at Patrick’s leg, trying to get his attention. “Patrick. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.” Patrick tangles their fingers together. He loves when Patrick holds his hand. Patrick is so nice. He loves Patrick. Patrick takes care of him. The motion of the car makes his head spin. He closes his eyes, pressing his too warm cheek against the cool glass of the window. </p><p>“David. Wake up.” Someone is shaking him. He shrugs them off, hoping they’ll leave him alone. “David, c’mon.” He cracks his eyes open. It’s dark. Patrick kneels beside the car, one hand on his shoulder. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up that makes his skin look translucent in the darkness. David reaches out a hand to fumble clumsily at his collar. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.” Patrick stands and offers his hand, pulling David out of the car.</p><p>“Where’s Stevie?” He presses his hands against the back window of the car, peering inside. Patrick tugs at his shoulder, pulling him away.</p><p>“I took her inside already. C’mon.”</p><p>Patrick leads him inside and up the stairs. The guest room door is closed and no light shows along the crack by the floor. Mariah follows them up, he sinks onto the bed and she jumps up beside him. Patrick bends down to carefully untie his shoes, tugging them off. A sudden tap on his shoulders makes him focus on Patrick’s face. “Sweater.” Obediently, he lifts his arms and Patrick lifts off the Givenchy sweatshirt. </p><p>“Are you mad?” Patrick folds his sweater and places it on top of the chair by the door.</p><p>“Why would I be mad?” Patrick disappears into his walk-in closet, returning with his favorite sleep pants and a t-shirt.</p><p>“‘Cause I’m a mess.” </p><p>Patrick’s hand cups his cheek, tilting his head up, forcing David to look at him. “Of course I’m not mad.” He bends down to brush his lips gently against David’s. “You know why?” He shakes his head mutely. “Because I love you.”</p><p>“That’s not fair.” He pouts at Patrick. “That’s what I’m supposed to say.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Clint is a terrible liar. It’s cute, his inability to make eye contact, the way the tips of his ears get pink. If Marcy presses him hard enough, he’ll get flustered and blurt out the truth. She and Patrick are different, they’re both skilled at hiding the truth from themselves so thoroughly that it might as well not exist, but Clint is cut from a different cloth. And for the past two weeks he’s been acting adorably evasive, avoiding her eyes when they talk about making plans and having secret conversations with David and Patrick. </p><p>“I thought we could stop at David and Patrick’s for a minute on our way to the restaurant.” </p><p>Ostensibly, they’re on their way to Elmdale to celebrate her birthday. She bites the corners of her mouth to keep from smiling. “I thought we’d agreed to call first.”</p><p>“Um. I did? I mean, they know we’re coming?” His poker face is cracking and she’s barely said anything. She takes pity on him, reaching across the console to pat his leg. </p><p>As they pull into David and Patrick’s driveway, she does her best to valiantly ignore the row of cars lining the street in front of their house, following Clint as he knocks on the front door. It’s mere seconds later that David sweeps open the door as though he’d been waiting on the other side and sweeps her into a hug, something he does so naturally now that it’s impossible to recall a time he had been hesitant and uncomfortable. “Happy birthday.”</p><p>“Thank you, David.” David gives the best hugs. It’s like he has a secret advanced degree in hugging. She loves hugs from Clint and Patrick, but David’s long arms are like being enveloped by a fuzzy blanket. She hugs him back until he’s ready to let go before following him through the quiet house, passing the empty living room. Maybe she’s mistaken. Maybe Clint has something else planned for this evening. </p><p>“Um, Patrick’s out back.” David gestures through the kitchen and they follow behind him as he pads through the house. She braces herself as David holds the back door open and even though she’s expecting it, the shout when she steps onto the back porch takes her by surprise.</p><p>“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”</p><p>At the base of the steps, Patrick stands amidst the friends she’s made over the past few months. Ronnie and Dulce. Stevie. Twyla. Priya and her husband Arjun. Moving to a new place has been harder than she thought it would be. Coming to terms with Patrick, making new friends, finding new ways to spend her time, it’s been a lot to adjust to. But for the first time she feels like she belongs here.</p><p>“Happy birthday, mom.” As she comes down the steps, Patrick hands her a glass of champagne and engulfs her in a hug. </p><p>“Thank you, honey.” The back yard is beautiful. Patio lights frame the back porch, running down the balusters to the garden where a long table has been set up beneath the maple tree. She can see David’s hand in the decorations. On the table, elegant vases of wildflowers are interspersed with formal dining ware. Blankets are folded on the back of each chair in anticipation of the chill that will come later in the evening. Clint’s arm settles around her shoulders. “So this is what you’ve been hiding the last couple of weeks.”</p><p>“I should have known I couldn’t fool you.” Clint presses a kiss to his favorite spot on her temple. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”</p><p>Dinner is ready and David insists they take their seats. She ends up between Clint and Priya with Ronnie and Dulce across from her. Through either some twist of fate, or more likely, David’s sense of humor, Patrick sits next to Ronnie. </p><p>From his seat next to Patrick David taps on his wine glass. “I’m so glad you could all come tonight. Marcy is the best mother-in-law anyone could ask for and a better one than I ever dared hope for.” David pauses. “Not that I ever thought I’d have a mother-in-law at all.” He clears his throat as he looks around the table, his eyes are suspiciously damp. “I know not everyone knows each other, so even though ten is not the correct number for proper game play,” At this, Patrick and Stevie snort simultaneously. “I thought we’d start with a bit of a game.” David passes a black and white bowl to Patrick. “Take one and pass it around.”</p><p>Patrick pulls a quarter out of the bowl and passes it to Ronnie. She takes her own coin and the bowl makes its way around the table. An awkward silence ensues as everyone watches it pass from hand to hand. </p><p>“Is this what you think my conversation is worth? Because I think I can do better.” Stevie smirks from her spot beside David as she sets the now empty bowl in the middle of the table. </p><p>“I’m glad you think so. That means you can go first.” David grins at her. “There’s a year on the coin you chose, tell everyone something good that happened to you on that date.”</p><p>Stevie makes a face and takes a drink of her wine, squinting at the quarter. “2004. Well, that was my second year of college and I smoked a lot of weed that year. Like, a lot of weed. Which was pretty good.” Ronnie breaks first, her snickers set everyone else off. Stevie holds up a hand for quiet. “But. That summer I went to Montreal for two weeks. I’d never been anywhere, the biggest city I’d seen was Thornbridge. So yeah, two weeks in Montreal, by myself. I felt like I’d been somewhere.” </p><p>“How did I not know that about you?” David is outraged to learn something new about his friend. Stevie shrugs and takes another drink of her wine. David narrows his eyes at Stevie before continuing around the table. “Twyla.”</p><p>Twyla holds the coin up for a second. “2012. Let’s see, I would have been twenty-four. That was the year my aunt’s boyfriend’s daughter got lost during summer camp and everyone thought she’d drowned. But she was fine.” Twyla smiles sweetly at the table. “And it was the year I started at the cafe, which is the best thing to happen to me because it’s how I met all of you.” </p><p>Clint is next and he shares a touching story of how he’d taken her to the carnival for their fifth anniversary in 1991. The memory makes her eyes well up or maybe it’s the anticipation of what she’s about to say. She wraps her fingers around the coin, biting her lip before she speaks. “2017.” Patrick’s eyes meet hers across the table and he winces. “That was the year Patrick moved here.”</p><p>“Mom…” Patrick breathes out the word and she smiles gently back at him.</p><p>“At the time, I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened. But I’ve never been more wrong.” Patrick’s face is soft and David’s hand strokes his shoulder. “It was the best thing.” She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Look at me, bringing the mood down on my birthday.” She hopes Patrick knows she means it. His eyes meet hers, warm and soft giving her a small nod, accepting what she’s said.</p><p>The stories continue around the table. Priya tells about moving to Schitt’s Creek and Arjun gets choked up talking about the day Prisha was born. Dulce blushes when she talks about moving in with Ronnie, making Ronnie squirm in her seat before she tells her own story of when she and Dulce first met.</p><p>Patrick holds up his coin. “1993. So I would have been six.” He puts the quarter down on the table and touches it with his fingertips. “The Jays won the World Series for the second year in a row. And I was so excited.” He grins impishly. “But the games were on TV past my bedtime so I begged you guys to let me stay up.” He clears his throat, looking down at the table again. “I think that was when I learned to love baseball. Snuggled on the couch in my pajamas with both of you.”</p><p>“Aw, Brewer, that’s a nice story. It almost makes me like you.” Ronnie breaks the moment and Stevie snorts into the silence.</p><p>“Aw, thanks Ronnie.” </p><p>“Don’t get cocky, I said almost.” Ronnie rolls her eyes at Patrick, but she’s kidding. Mostly. </p><p>“Um, okay.” David’s mouth twists as he holds up his quarter. “I didn’t think this was going to get so emotional. I thought we’d just share some stories about going to Rihanna’s latest concert.” David pauses and looks down at the coin in his hand. “2022.”</p><p>“Wasn’t that the year we went to Rihanna’s concert?” Patrick interjects, the smirk on his face makes David scowl. </p><p>“No. I mean, yes, it was, but that wasn’t the best thing that happened to me that year. The best thing that happened was that we went back to New York for the first time since I came here.” Beside him, Patrick’s shoulders twitch. “And I realized that I never want to live there again, because I have everything I need right here.” David leans over to kiss Patrick on the cheek, ignoring Stevie’s muttered ‘ew’ as she leans away from them. </p><p>David’s icebreaker works and conversation spills out around the table. The sun starts to set, casting shadows that are broken by the patio lights and the candles on the table. Once the dinner plates have been cleared, Marcy hands around pieces of the chocolate birthday cake and David fiddles with the speakers until the music is acceptably loud. Before she finishes her cake, Patrick offers his hand to her for the first dance. “Having a good time?”</p><p>“You know I am.” Beside them, Clint dances with David. David tips his head back in a full-blown laugh as Clint twirls him. She loves them both so much it threatens to spill out of her. </p><p>Clint and David continue to dance and laugh together. “Mom—” Patrick steers her around the impromptu line dance that Stevie and Twyla are teaching Priya and Dulce. “I know it’s been a bit of an adjustment these last few months. But I’m really glad you’re here.”</p><p>“Thank you, honey.” Mariah has joined the line dance, darting in between their friends’ legs, barking happily. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Patrick picks up the last stack of dessert plates. He’s tired, but in a good way, the warm contentment of the evening soaking into his body, making him sleepy and relaxed. He takes two steps towards the house when David pulls the plates out of his arms and sets them back on the table.</p><p>“C’mere.” David leads him to the patch of lawn that they’d used as a dance floor that evening. The grass is trampled from the feet of their friends and family, their tracks still visible in the growing darkness. Mariah watches them sleepily from the porch, her tiny frame exhausted from all the attention. David turns up the volume for the music as Patrick’s hands find David’s hips and David’s hands lock behind his neck. Being surrounded by the larger frame of his husband is part of his  DNA now. David tilts his head back and looks him in the eye. “So, your mom had a good time tonight.”</p><p>“She did.” David’s hips shift beneath his hands as they sway slowly. Patrick forces himself to stay in the moment instead of skipping ahead to the ways their bodies will move together once they’re back inside in their bedroom. “I think she’s starting to feel at home here.”</p><p>“Mmm.” David bends to kiss him, his arms wrap fully around his shoulders bringing him closer. Maybe they can stay like this forever. Or maybe just all night. Dancing in the garden with David. Watching the sun break through the trees, David’s lips behind his ear, their bodies tangled together. </p><p>They’ve done this dance a thousand times. More. And it’s never grown old. Back when everything was new, when any touch from David would set him on fire he’d kept track. This is kiss number 18. Number 21. Number 36. As if the list in his head could etch each moment in his mind forever. But now, he knows, it’s just one thing. One long continuous stream of affection that stretches back to the moment David had kissed him in his car in front of the motel and hopefully stretches forward until they’re both too old and grey to do more than hold hands. </p><p>David’s lips leave his and he whines, chasing them, making David laugh as he gives in, letting Patrick lead this time. It’s fully dark now and his back and arms are chilled in the late evening air. “The dishes can wait. Let’s go inside.” He laces his fingers with David’s, tugging his husband up the stairs and into their house, flipping out the garden lights on their way through the kitchen to the next moment awaiting them in the bedroom.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Little Sister</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>Patrick seals the envelope and writes David’s name on the front in his precise handwriting. The card will not be well-received. David has made it abundantly clear how he feels about his 40th birthday. Which is the point, the trolling is just an excuse to hide the lengths that Patrick would go for him. Well, and it’s funny. So it’s a win-win, really. He leaves the card on the pillow beside his sleeping husband and slips downstairs.</p><p>He puts the finishing touches on the pancakes as an outraged screech echoes down the stairs. “Patrick! We’re getting divorced!” Grinning to himself, he places the carefully wrapped parcel on the tray beside the coffee and the syrup. Out the window, Mariah rolls happily on the back lawn, her paws flopping in the air as she wiggles in the grass. She’ll be fine on her own for another few minutes. He brings the tray upstairs and stands in the doorway. David’s hair is mussed, his eyes narrowed behind his reading glasses. “This.” He holds up the card. “Is not funny.” The bright yellow writing is visible from across the room. <strong>Over the Hill</strong> “You know I’m not prepared to celebrate this birthday.”</p><p>“Seemed pretty funny to me. But I guess you don’t want these birthday pancakes.”</p><p>“I will accept your pancakes in reparation for your unacceptable behaviour.” He sets the tray on David’s lap; his husband’s eyes flick between the pancakes and the gift on the corner of the tray. He brushes his lips across David’s temple and settles beside him on the bed. “Happy 7th First Date-iversary.”</p><p>“That’s not a thing.” David snatches the gift as Patrick tries to take it from the tray. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”</p><p>“It’s not your birthday present, you get that later.” He does this every year. Uses these little gifts to separate David’s birthday from their anniversary. One of their anniversaries. Like he’s holding aside part of the day so it’s just for them. Besides, the birthday surprise he has planned won’t happen until later in the day.</p><p>“Oh?” David raises a suggestive eyebrow, his eyes dropping to Patrick’s lips.</p><p>“And you can get that later too.” He drops his voice until it’s low and gravelly, just to make David flush.</p><p>Careful as always, David slides his fingernail under the edge of the Scotch tape holding down the ends of the paper before doing the same for the piece in the middle. A scrap of the paper will undoubtedly join the collection of ephemera that David keeps tucked inside his journal. Carefully, David unfolds the black-and-white rose patterned wrapping paper to reveal the small wooden box Patrick had wrapped this morning. David flips the tiny metal latch and opens the box revealing a set of twelve colored pencils. With a single fingertip, David touches the tip of the red pencil but he doesn’t take it out of the box.</p><p>“They’re watercolor pencils.” Maybe he’s made a mistake. David had said he wasn’t ready for Patrick to see his drawings, maybe he shouldn’t have bought the pencils. But he’d seen them in the window of the art supply shop in Elmdale and he’d wanted them for David. “Is it okay? I know you wanted to keep your art for yourself, but I thought you might like them—”</p><p>“Patrick.” David’s voice catches in the middle and then he’s grasping the back of Patrick’s neck, nearly upsetting the tray as he kisses him. Patrick steadies the coffee with one hand so it doesn’t spill as David pulls away. “No one’s ever…” David clears his throat. “No one’s ever taken my drawing seriously before.”</p><p>“I thought you went to art school?” David has his MFA. Someone must have taken him seriously at some point in his art career. But that was a long time ago.</p><p>“Yeah. I mean, I did. But art school is about being edgy and having a message, not about random sketches. Which you haven’t even seen. What if they aren’t any good?” Anxiety bleeds into David’s voice and Patrick wants to hold him close until it passes. He settles for trolling his husband instead.</p><p>“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten you a gift until I have proof that it would only produce great art.” David looks down at the pencils again, running his finger along the tips. “I don’t care if you use them to write out the grocery list if it makes you happy.” One day he’ll convince David that he doesn’t need to demonstrate a level of excellence to be worthy of Patrick’s gifts, but today isn’t that day. David gives him his private smile, the one that disappears into his cheek. Patrick nods at his plate. “Your pancakes are getting cold.”</p><p>There’s a distant ‘woof’ from the back door. He kisses David on the cheek and slides out of bed before going downstairs to let the dog in, taking a few minutes to tidy the kitchen and pour another cup of coffee. He’s putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when David’s feet thud down the stairs and David sets the empty tray on the counter with a soft rattle. David crowds into his space, using his larger frame to push him against the counter, holding Patrick there the way he likes it.</p><p>“Hi.” David’s soft smile contrasts with the heat in his eyes. He brings a hand up to the back of Patrick’s head, holding him where he wants him as he kisses him deeply, tongue licking at his lips. “Happy anniversary.” David is hard against his thigh, his hips twitch as David grinds into him, a happy grin breaking through the kiss.</p><p>“David—” His fingers clutch at David’s hips, trying to bring their bodies even closer together.</p><p>“I’ve got you.” David slides his hand between them, cupping him through his plaid pants before sinking to his knees. Patrick’s hands clutch at the edge of the counter, as David tugs his sleep pants down before slowly sliding a hand into his own pajama bottoms. He strokes himself as he takes Patrick deep into his mouth.</p><p>In the early days of their relationship, when it was all he could do to keep from coming every time David touched him, he had assumed that the intensity of his desire would eventually ease, become less consuming. And while a single touch usually isn’t enough anymore, David’s ability to take him apart is unceasing, like David had earned an advanced degree in his body. He shouts as he comes, David’s body bucking forward on the floor below him as he gives into his own pleasure.</p><p>David wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands, knees cracking. “Now that I’m forty, I probably won’t be able to do that for much longer.”</p><p>He hauls David to his feet, kissing him messily, tasting coffee and come on his lips. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m much younger than you are, I should be able to get down on my knees for you for a few years yet.” His muscles are loose and clumsy, he puts David’s dishes into the dishwasher as the aftereffects of the morning blow job settle into his body.</p><p>“It’s unacceptable that you are this mean to me on my birthday.” The fondness in David’s eyes makes it hard for Patrick to take him seriously. Putting a hand behind David’s head, he pulls him in for another kiss.</p><p>“Do you want your birthday present now or do you want to wait?” There’s only one answer, but it’s fun to make David say it.</p><p>“Have we met?” David makes grabby hands at him as Patrick slides the envelope across the counter. David opens the envelope, pulling out the AirBnB booking.</p><p>“Three nights, just the two of us.” They’ll spend their nights tangled in the sheets of the king-sized bed and their days in the hot tub or by the lake. David will rub sunscreen into his skin and he’ll cook David’s favorites. He’s already put in an order for the decadent chocolate cake that Maureen at the Elmdale Bakery makes. David needs this. He needs this. They’ve spent too much time apart lately. They need a chance to reconnect.</p><p>“You’re my favorite husband.” David tugs him close, kissing him again.</p><p>“Your <em>favorite</em> husband?”</p><p>“Nothing compares to you.” David picks up his new pencils and his sketchbook and gathers up the soft blanket they keep in the storage bench by the back door. When the coffee is ready, Patrick prepares David’s cup the way he likes it and takes both mugs outside. Brushing a kiss to David’s temple, he sets David’s cup on the side table and takes his own into the garden, Mariah trotting at his heels.</p><p>He loves the garden this time of year. Everything is lush and growing, he picks a handful of strawberries and checks on the tomatoes that are starting to ripen. Pulling a few weeds, he relishes the warm dirt between his fingers before taking the strawberries back to David.</p><p>David closes his sketchbook as Patrick comes up the stairs. Patrick is almost to the top when David lifts his chin and opens it again, flipping the page around towards Patrick. He pours the collection of strawberries into David’s open hand, using his free hand to tilt his head back to kiss him before he takes the sketchbook and sits on the swing next to David.</p><p>It’s far from finished. A few bold lines and a hint of color. A brush of eyelashes against his cheek, the hint of a smile on his lips as David’s unfinished portrait of him fills the page. David twists his rings and puts the pencil away in its case, his eyes firmly avoiding Patrick’s as he eats the first of the strawberries.</p><p>“David…” It’s wrong to describe a drawing of yourself as beautiful but there aren’t any other words. “It’s beautiful.” He moves to turn the page, his hand freezing above the corner. “Can I?” David nods, the strawberries are almost gone. Patrick flips back past a picture of Mariah, a portrait of Alexis, another picture of himself, from a distance this time, a closeup of Stevie. David does this sometimes, hands him a key to himself that Patrick didn’t know he’d been missing. Patrick closes the book, holding it in his hands for a moment before giving it back to David. “Thank you for letting me see them.”</p><p>David bumps their shoulders together, tucking his sock feet up on the edge of the swing. Mariah returns from her exploration of the garden and hops up on Patrick’s lap. Patrick intertwines his fingers with David’s, giving them a soft squeeze. “Happy birthday, David.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Marcy sets the armful of books and the grocery-store cupcakes on the corner of the table upstairs in the Apothecary next to the wine David had promised. Maybe store-bought cupcakes give the wrong impression. She should have taken the time to bake cookies. But, somewhere in between having lunch with Priya yesterday and driving to Elmdale to pick up the books from the library, she’d run out of time. It’s too late now. She turns in a slow circle, taking in the space. The decor is sleeker than downstairs in the store, David’s touch is evident in the black and white accents. A semicircle of chairs have been added in front of the sofa, converting the workspace to a meeting room for the afternoon. </p><p>The others should be here soon. Or at least she hopes they will. When she’d talked to Ronnie and Priya about it, they’d been excited about setting up a book club so she’d pinned a poster up on the notice board at Town Hall, hoping other people might feel the same way.</p><p>“If no one comes, at least I’ll have an hour to myself to read.” She mutters the words to the empty walls. Downstairs, the bell jingles over the door and there’s a murmur of voices as Monique chats with whoever has come into the store. Shortly after, there are footsteps on the stairs and David comes into the room.</p><p>“David. Happy birthday.” Patrick had rather forcefully emphasized that David is struggling with turning forty, but still, she has to mention it. She hugs him warmly, his larger frame bending over hers. “You didn’t have to come check on me.”</p><p>David lets her go and steps back, playing with the gold rings on his right hand. “Um, I’m not. I thought I might join you?” Over the past five years David has buried most of his insecurities beneath the strength of his marriage, but now and then they seep out of him.</p><p>“Well, that would be lovely. I’d be happy to have you.” She frowns at him. She hadn’t expected to see David today, Patrick has a surprise planned. “I thought Patrick might have you wrapped up in birthday activities all day.”</p><p>“I told him I didn’t want to make a big deal of my birthday. But he said he had to go to Elmdale.” David’s face scrunches up, he’s worried about what Patrick might be planning. “So I have a couple of hours.” David pauses, spinning the rings on his right hand, telegraphing his uncertainty. “I’ve never shared books with other people? But if it works for Oprah…”</p><p>David trails off at the tread of footsteps on the stairs and Ronnie and Priya come into the room, followed by Jocelyn, Twyla and, of all people, Ray. Jocelyn passes over a foil-wrapped tray. “Just a few homemade Nanaimo bars.” She sets them on the table beside the wine. “Oh, I see you brought cupcakes. Wow, Brebners has really upped the amount of blue dye they put in their icing, huh?” Marcy narrows her eyes at Jocelyn, who beams back at her sweetly.</p><p>After a few minutes of mingling, everyone helps themselves to coffee and treats and settles into the chairs in the circle. Marcy gathers up the books she’s brought from the library and sets the stack at her feet. “Thank you all for coming.” Six pairs of eyes stare back at her. Her palms are damp and she rubs her hands together. “Um, since this is our first official book club meeting, I thought we should talk about what books we wanted to read.” Yes. That’s an excellent place to start. That’s what the guide she’d found on the internet had suggested. Around the circle people are nodding.</p><p>“We need the right name.” Twyla pipes up eagerly. “My cousin is in a book club called Prose before Hoes. Of course, it’s not so much a book club as it is a front for selling peyote.”</p><p>Marcy clears her throat awkwardly. “And we need the right name.” Peyote aside, a name is a good idea. That is the best place to start. She should have started there instead of diving right into the book titles. “Why don’t we each write down some name suggestions and vote on the ones we like?”</p><p>Before she can ask, David jumps up and rummages through Patrick’s desk, passing around some pens and some sticky notes. There are a few moments of quiet interspersed by the stretching of pen to paper as everyone considers their ideas. Marcy takes the slips of paper as everyone passes them around the circle to her and shuffles them into a neat pile. She unfolds the first one.</p><p>“Schitt’s Creek Book Club.” It says what it is, but maybe brainstorming for a name wasn’t  such a wonderful idea. “Well. How about I read them all out and then we can decide.”</p><p>“Guilty Pleasures Book Club.”</p><p>“Between the Covers.”</p><p>“As the Page Turns.”</p><p>“Reading Between the Wines.”</p><p>“Shelf Indulgence: Shelves by Ray” Ray beams at her from across the circle.</p><p>“Joie de Livre.”</p><p>“I don’t like that last one. It’s too pretentious.” Ronnie takes a drink of her wine.</p><p>“It’s French.” David scowls back at Ronnie from across the circle. “It gives an appropriate tone that sets us apart from other book clubs.</p><p>“Well, I don’t speak French.” Ronnie fires back. “I like Reading Between the Wines. It reminds me why I’m really here.”</p><p>Marcy takes a deep breath and attempts to put the conversation back on track. “Okay. I think we need a name we can all agree on. Does anyone like any of the other names?”</p><p>“I like Shelf Indulgence because it speaks to the importance of a well-organized closet.” Ray smiles at the group. “Which reminds me, I just had these new business cards printed.” Ray pulls a handful of cards out of the breast pocket of his golf shirt and passes them around the circle. “It’s never too late to organize your books...or your life.”</p><p>“I like Between the Covers.” Priya offers into a moment of silence. Beside her, both Twyla and Jocelyn nod in agreement.</p><p>“David? Ronnie? Ray? Can you live with that or do we need to vote?” There are reluctant nods from the three of them.</p><p>“Well. In that case, I’m going to call the first meeting of the Between the Covers Book Club to order.” Marcy takes a gulp of wine and sets her glass on the side table. She claps her hands together, like a kindergarten teacher dealing with a room full of rambunctious five-year-olds. “Let’s talk about what kinds of books we want to read.”</p><p>“There’s a recent biography about Anna Wintour.”</p><p>“I don’t want to read anything too heavy.”</p><p>“Has anyone read Madeline Miller?”</p><p>Everyone speaks at once and Marcy can’t get a word in edgewise. “Okay— Let’s—” She taps her wedding ring against her wine glass, the sharp ding breaks through the chatter. “Let’s go around the circle and say what we want to read. Jocelyn, why don’t you start?”</p><p>“Well. I’m really looking for something that Rollie and I can roleplay. We were using his true crime novels but I am tired of dressing up like a police officer.” Across the circle, David shudders, his entire body quivering with the effort of containing his revulsion. Marcy schools her face into a neutral expression, trying to force away the image of Jocelyn in a police uniform while Roland—  </p><p>Desperately, she turns to the next person in the circle. “Okay. Ray?”</p><p>“Oh, I only read novels that have romance.” Ray nods happily. “Preferably ones where the hero is a dashing real estate agent or a lonely travel photographer or a precise but romantic closet organizer salesman.”</p><p>Ronnie is next. She’s a no-nonsense person, hopefully she’ll get things back on track. To her surprise, Ronnie nods along with Ray. “I like a good romance novel. I’m not so sure about the closet organization angle, but I’d go for the rest of it.”</p><p>Priya nods her agreement. “I agree with Ronnie. Let’s start with something easy to read to see how we like the book club.”</p><p>Twyla chimes in. “Oh, I love romance novels. The Lord of the Rings is my mom’s favorite book.” She sighs wistfully. “It’s so romantic.”</p><p>Marcy turns to the one person who’s been uncharacteristically quiet during this discussion. “David?”</p><p>David shrugs, an amused smirk on his lips. “Normally, I prefer a biography or a treatise on art history, but I’ve been known to read a romance or two.”</p><p>“That’s settled then.” Marcy takes a deep breath. Okay. She’s gotten them this far. Like she’s successfully herded an unfocused group of cats through an obstacle course. Now they just need to pick a book.</p><p>After much debate, and several inappropriate suggestions from Twyla (Stephen King writes the best romances) and Ray (I just need to feel a connection with the main character) they agree on Madeline Miller’s Song of Achilles despite David’s objection that it’s not a romance because it doesn’t have a happy ending. Following a spirited discussion and more wine, the group troops happily down the stairs, leaving Marcy behind with David. She cleans up, taking a certain amount of satisfaction from the fact that all of her cupcakes have disappeared. She pulls a couple of the empty wine glasses out of David’s hands. “It’s your birthday, I can’t let you clean up.”</p><p>Below, the front door opens and the rumble of Patrick’s voice floats up the stairs. David’s eyes flick to the door and she waves him towards the stairs. “Go. We’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Thanks Marcy.” David hugs her before he disappears down the stairs, leaving her to finish cleaning up.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>There’s a murmur of voices as David comes down the back stairs of the Apothecary from Patrick and Monique and a third voice that is indistinct but achingly familiar. He’s been waiting suspiciously since Patrick had left on his mysterious errand a couple of hours before. His husband had insisted that today was the only day that would do, rebuffing David’s offer to accompany him, essentially abandoning him on his birthday. His husband loves a romantic surprise almost as much as he loves baseball, so no matter how stringently he had insisted that he didn’t want to celebrate this unfortunate landmark of a birthday, he’s sure that Patrick has secret plans. </p><p>He’s 40 today. It’s incomprehensible and unacceptable. He still has the youthful appearance of a 29 year old, of course. His right knee makes a strange popping sound as he heads down the stairs. Well, maybe a 35 year old. He screws up his face in disgust. 40 sounds so old and responsible. It’s too bad Patrick is younger than he is. Patrick would be good at turning 40. He’d know all the grown-up things 40 year olds are supposed to do. He takes the last few steps into the store, coming an abrupt halt at the base of the stairs. “Alexis?”</p><p>“Happy birthday, David!” With a flutter of Isabel Marant and the click of her heels, Alexis dances across the store to greet him, pulling him into a long hug.</p><p>“What are you doing here? I thought you had your big premiere on Saturday?” When he had talked to her on Monday; bemoaning his birthday and everything it represents, Alexis had assured him she was there for him, she just couldn’t be there for him in person.</p><p>“I couldn’t miss your 40th birthday. It’s a big milestone in saying goodbye to your youth.” Alexis boops him on the nose with her finger, he flinches away, no longer glad to see her. “Besides, I’m only here for one night, so you’d better make the most of it.”</p><p>His mouth fights to both smile and scowl before his smirk hides in the corner of his cheek. “This had better not be a prelude to some sort of surprise party.”</p><p>Patrick grins as he and Alexis make their way to the front of the store. “Would I do that to you?”</p><p>“Based on your past history, yes you would.” He’s 87% sure that Patrick is telling the truth but he glares at him anyway, just to be on the safe side.</p><p>“I promise this is the only surprise. Unless you want me to surprise you later.” Patrick drops his voice suggestively, trying to get a reaction out of him. It works and something warm and sticky pools inside him. Not wanting to give Patrick the satisfaction, he forces his face to remain still as he stares at Patrick as blankly as possible.</p><p>“Ew, Patrick!” Alexis swats Patrick on the arm, giving David flashbacks of all the times they’d spent in the store together.</p><p>“Stevie will meet us at the house and then we’re going to Elmdale for dinner. No surprises, I promise.”</p><p>Patrick gives some last instructions to Monique about the new inventory that arrived that morning. David pretends not to notice as Alexis slips a lip balm into her pocket, he sends her new samples every month or two. Then, with a flurry of goodbyes and a soft whistle to the dog, they’re out the door.</p><p>Back at home, Patrick insists on showing Alexis his tomatoes. His sister gives him an amused look behind Patrick’s back, but she follows him out to the garden, the dog bounding happily at their heels. He barely has time to change his sweater before Stevie opens the front door without knocking and steps inside. “One of these days you’re going to walk in on something you don’t want to see.”</p><p>“One. I’ve already seen it. And two, Alexis is here, so I assumed it was safe. Happy birthday.” Stevie holds out a small black and white gift bag, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger like it contains an unexploded bomb or a fake Gucci handbag.</p><p>“What are you doing?” In the entire time he’s known her, they’ve never given each other gifts, unless he counts the times she’s shared her weed with him, which he definitely doesn’t.</p><p>Stevie lifts one shoulder, shaking the bag at him until he takes it. “It’s not really for you. Well, it kind of is, but it’s kind of not. Open it.”</p><p>Reaching inside, he pulls a soft item wrapped in black tissue paper out of the bag. Undoing the wrapping reveals a tiny sweater. “Stevie Budd. Did you just give me a sweater for my dog?”</p><p>With a scowl, Stevie crosses her arms defensively on her chest. Her plaid shirt is tucked in today, her version of dressing up. He spreads the sweater out on the table, it’s a replica of his Neil Barrett lightning bolt sweater. “I didn’t want her to get cold.”</p><p>“Are you feeling actual human emotions for Mariah?” He’s going to hold this over her for the rest of their lives and both of them know it.</p><p>“It’s not like I’m feeling anything for you.” Stevie glares at him. “Other than my usual feeling of annoyance, that is.”</p><p>They’re locked in a stalemate, when the dog in question dashes in the back door, Patrick and Alexis coming in behind her. “Patrick was just showing me his zucchini.” Alexis’s hands prance through the air as she shows the size of the vegetables.</p><p>“Was he.” His eyes meet Patrick’s and his husband blushes, his ears turning a pretty pink color. Patrick has been going on about his vegetables for days, but teasing him is better with an audience.</p><p>“It’s not— They’re not— They’re just really big, okay?” Patrick scowls as they all laugh at him.</p><p>“Yes, tell us more about your <em>zucchini</em> Patrick.” Stevie leers at him and David picks up her challenge.</p><p>“I’ll have you know that Patrick’s <em>zucchini</em> is, in fact, very big.”</p><p>“Ew!” All Stevie and Alexis yell at David as a blush paints Patrick’s cheeks an even deeper shade of pink.</p><p>“Oh, look at the cute little sweater.” Alexis holds it up to the light. “Mariah will look so sweet in that. And you’ll match when you take her for her little walks.”</p><p>“We’re not going to match, because matching clothes are tacky. Mariah will look very stylish in her sweater while I wear an equally fashionable and complimentary but not identical outfit.”</p><p>“Okay, well Mariah will have to try on her sweater when we get back or we’re going to miss our dinner reservation.” David takes the sweater from Alexis and folds it carefully, putting it back in the gift bag before Patrick herds them towards the door. Patrick’s has changed out of his work clothes into David’s Balenciaga shirt with the burgundy blazer over top. David wants to hold him down and bite him. Patrick locks the front door and as Stevie and Alexis stroll towards the car, David crowds Patrick up against the door. “Is my birthday present getting to take you out of these clothes when we get home?” The back of Patrick’s neck turns scarlet and David kisses it with just a hint of teeth, smiling as goosebumps form beneath his lips.</p><p>“Okay, let’s go.” Patrick turns around, the flush extends below his collar and his voice is higher than normal. “We don’t want to be late.” David rests his hands on Patrick’s hips for an extra second, anticipation coursing through his body before Patrick gently pushes him away and heads to the car.</p><p>Octavian’s has become a frequent choice when he and Patrick want to celebrate. The ambience isn’t up to David’s usual standards but he’s prepared to overlook the dried flower arrangements and the mass-produced jars of decorative pasta for the best chicken marsala he’s had since he was in Italy.</p><p>“My name is Melanie. Are we celebrating anything special tonight?” Their server hands out the menus with a broad smile. David grimaces back at her, preemptively shaking his head. Melanie fills their water glasses and Stevie leaps into the conversation.</p><p>“It’s David’s birthday.” Stevie points at him gleefully. “His <em>40th</em> birthday.”</p><p>He kicks at her under the table but it’s too late. “Stevie—”</p><p>“Happy birthday. We offer a free dessert for every birthday.” Melanie fills their water glasses, moving efficiently around the table.</p><p>“You’re not going to sing, are you?” This is the kind of place that lures you in with the promise of free cake before embarrassing you in front of a room full of strangers.</p><p>“Do you have a special song for birthday milestones?” He kicks at Stevie again, as Melanie looks back and forth between them.</p><p>“You don’t want the singing?” Melanie pauses before she reaches for the last glass, an offended look on her face.</p><p>“No.” Politeness takes over at the last second. “Thank you.” He’ll walk out if there’s singing. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d walked out of a very charming French bistro in Paris after an overeager violinist wouldn’t leave him alone.</p><p>“Are you sure? We’ve received many compliments about our birthday medley.”</p><p>“Yeah, David. The birthday medley will help mark this <em>significant</em> occasion.” He’s going to kill Stevie. He’s going to leave her body in a ditch on the way home. He scowls, kicking at her for a third time and getting some small satisfaction when she lets out a soft yelp as he finally makes contact.</p><p>“I am sure. Yes.” Stevie snorts out a laugh. How is he still having this interminable discussion with this person?</p><p>“Yes, you want the singing?” Melanie surveys the table, evidently just in case anyone else wants to offer an opinion.</p><p>He forces a smile, aware that it’s definitely more of a grimace at this point. “I am sure that I don’t want the singing.”</p><p>“Well.” Their server’s expression makes it clear he’s making a mistake. “I’ll just leave you with the menus.”</p><p>David opens the menu. He’s having the chicken marsala. It’s what he always has, it’s the reason he comes to this restaurant. Otherwise, he’d never subject himself to the cliched decor, he gets enough of that at Twyla’s. Beneath the table, Patrick’s hand finds his thigh, his fingers trailing suggestively, likely in retaliation for his earlier stunt as they were leaving. He shifts in his seat and does his best to ignore him as a tiny smirk appears at the corner of Patrick’s mouth.</p><p>“David, you’ll never guess who I ran into last week.” Alexis puts down her menu and tilts her head towards him.</p><p>“Who?” Beneath the tablecloth Patrick’s hand inches higher, a nearly overwhelming distraction.</p><p>“Anastasia. Remember? Your former assistant at your gallery?”</p><p>“Of course, I remember. She was <em>my</em> assistant.” Patrick’s fingers scratch lightly at his inseam. Patrick’s smirk grows bigger as David hooks his foot around Patrick’s ankle.</p><p>“She’s running the 57th Street Gallery now. Just think what might have happened if you’d moved back to New York, David.” Patrick’s hand goes still on his leg and then it’s gone. He glances sideways at his husband, but he’s studiously reading the menu.</p><p>“I don’t want to think about what might have happened if we’d gone to New York.” It was so long ago, the decision to stay here, and there are so many moments he would have missed if they’d left.</p><p>“And, that gelato shop you loved has a new location. On Lexington Avenue.” He can test the bright notes of their lemon gelato at the back of this throat. Even so, a couple of years ago they’d started stocking gelato from a dairy in Elm Glen that David swears is better than anything he’d been able to get in the city.</p><p>“Ugh, in Murray Hill?” He loves the gossip, but any pull towards the city is gone. The server takes their orders, leaving behind their two bottles of wine. “So how’s Ted?”</p><p>Alexis’s face softens. Ted had always been good for her in the same way that Patrick is good for him. Ted sands down her edges, takes away some of her sharpness. Ted was the best person to ever happen to his sister. “He’s fine.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was back in New York.” Alexis is usually guilty of over-sharing about her relationships. He’ll never forget her detailed descriptions about dating all three of the Hansen brothers. It had made for a very awkward encounter at the MTV Awards after party that year.</p><p>Alexis plays with her wine glass, her fingers tight on the stem. “I thought you might overreact.”</p><p>“I don’t overreact. When have I ever overreacted?” His voice rises at her unfounded accusation.</p><p>“You’re freaking out right now, David.” He’s not freaking out. Alexis would know if he’s freaking out and this is definitely not what it looks like. He takes a breath.</p><p>“Fine. Tell me about you and Ted.”</p><p>“Well,” An unconscious smile lights up Alexis’s face and her fingers dance on the tabletop. “Ted texted me about six months ago because he was finished helping all the cute little tortoises. So we went for coffee.”</p><p>“Six months ago!” David’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead.</p><p>“Hush, David.” Patrick’s hand finds his leg again, squeezing gently. “Nothing happened. Ted wasn’t sure how long he would stay in New York so we just had coffee. And then last month, he got a job at the Bronx Zoo.”</p><p>“So you’re right back in it, then.” His annoyance with Alexis cancels out the rest of the room and he barely notices as the server sets their plates in front of them.</p><p>“No, David. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Alexis sets her empty glass down on the table. “We’re taking things slow.”</p><p>“You don’t know the meaning—” Patrick’s hand squeezes his leg again, more forcefully this time and he breaks off in mid-sentence. He’d never understood how good slow could be until he’d met Patrick. Slow took him places he’d never thought possible. It’s brought him here. Surely his sister deserves the same chance. “Well. Good.”  </p><p>Alexis huffs at him, but she has a private grin on her face. “Stevie!” His sister’s voice is unnaturally bright. She’d been nervous about what he might say about Ted. When was the last time she was nervous to tell him about one of her relationships? Besides the times she needed him to call an embassy. He can’t remember. “Dad says you have big plans for the motels this year.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” David winces as Stevie downs her wine, shifting in her seat. They should have kept talking about Ted. “We definitely have some big plans for this year.” </p><p>“Alexis, why don’t you tell us about the premiere on Saturday.” Patrick squeezes David’s leg again before refilling Alexis’s wine glass.</p><p>Thankfully, Alexis doesn’t notice the sudden change of topic. “Well, it took some convincing, but after I told the studio about the Crows Premiere, they agreed I was the right person for the job.”</p><p>“Was that really your finest moment, though?” His sister has always pulled victory from the ashes of whatever calamity has befallen her.</p><p>“Stop, David. We’re doing pop-up premieres all across the country…” David’s heard all of Alexis’s stories about the premiere so he savors his chicken marsala, the sauce melting in his mouth as Patrick asks more questions.</p><p>“Patrick, it must be so nice having your parents in town.” David raises an eyebrow at his sister’s change of topic.</p><p>“Uh, it has its moments.” Patrick smiles at the server as she takes his plate.</p><p>“Does that include the moment where Marcy walked in on you two at the store?” Stevie’s on her third glass of wine, but even sober she wouldn’t have been able to resist embarrassing them.</p><p>“Oh my god, David. How could you do that to your poor mother-in-law?” Horror laces through Alexis’s voice as she marches her fingers across the table. Stevie chokes on her wine as she  stifles a laugh.</p><p>“The store was closed.” It’s highly unreasonable that he’s being blamed when Marcy was the one who had ignored the ‘Closed’ sign in the store's window.</p><p>“At least I’m not the one who made things worse by telling my parents about all the great sex we have.” Their server arrives at that moment and Patrick blushes bright red as she sets a piece of chocolate cake in front of David.</p><p>“It’s no wonder Marcy knows all about your sex life the way you two keep going on about it.”</p><p>“We’re not— just for that, I’m not going to share my cake.” He pulls the plate close and picks up his fork. The cake is a dark lush chocolate, almost black in the reduced lighting of the restaurant. He takes a bite, letting the frosting dissolve on his tongue.</p><p>Patrick grins at him. “Like you were going to do that, anyway.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>The book club had gone better than Marcy had expected. Humming to herself, she waves goodbye to Monique as she passes through the store, crossing the street to the cafe. She comes up the steps, Priya sits at the table just outside the door, her face troubled and her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. “Priya? Are you all right?”</p><p>“Marcy.” Her friend’s smile is strained. She’d been quiet during the book club but Marcy had passed it off as a symptom of being in a room of boisterous strangers. Fiddlesticks. She should have said something before Priya left that afternoon. “Would you care to join me?”</p><p>“Of course.” She pulls out a chair, waiting for Priya to continue.</p><p>“Prisha has told us that she’s dropping out of business school.” Distress creases Priya’s face as she sips her tea. </p><p>“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Marcy reaches across the table to squeeze Priya’s hand. Priya has been so proud that Prisha was getting top marks in her class. “Did she say why?”</p><p>“She says she hates it and that we forced her into it.” For the first time, Priya’s carefully sculpted composure cracks. “I never wanted her to be unhappy. Never.”  Priya is on the verge of tears. </p><p>“I know.” The day Patrick had shoved the last of his things in his car and driven away, Marcy had thought her heart might break. It’s only been these past few months, since she’s seen Patrick more regularly that she’s truly realized how happy he is. </p><p>“We only wanted her to have a good start. To have things we didn’t have.” Priya’s voice fades away and Marcy squeezes her hand again.</p><p>“I—” She clears her throat. She’s never shared her true feelings with anyone other than Clint. Not even her sisters know everything. “When Patrick left and moved here, I blamed myself. He was so angry and he gave up so much. It felt so sudden, like he’d made a decision overnight.” Priya nods, her hand loosens on her cup. “I thought he was making a big mistake.” Marcy pauses, looking down at the table. “But it wasn’t about me. I know that now.”</p><p>“Do you still blame yourself?” The question steals her breath away. No one has ever asked that before. </p><p>There’s no way to soften the blow. “Yes.” Priya gives a single, sharp nod. “But not for the same things. Now, I blame myself for not seeing what he needed sooner.” Priya’s eyes narrow as she thinks that over. “Everything worked out for the best. He’s happy now, even if it took him awhile to get there.” She pauses and takes a chance. “Maybe Prisha deserves the same chance.”</p><p>“She is so young.” Priya takes another drink of her tea. “It is hard to let her make her own mistakes, to know that she does not need me like she once did.”</p><p>“She will always need you. But maybe she just needs something different than what you thought.” Maybe that’s true of Patrick as well. She’s been clinging to the way things had been in the past, maybe it’s time for her and Patrick to build a new chapter for their relationship.</p><p>“Thank you, Marcy.”</p><p>She releases Priya’s hand, smiling softly at her friend. “It took me thirty years to let Patrick find his own path. Don’t make the same mistake that I did.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“I just don’t know if I want to learn a new social networking app.” Patrick hands Alexis back her phone where she’s been showing him ‘the latest thing’. “And how many sixteen-year-olds are shopping online at our store, anyway?” He barely stays on top of Instagram and Facebook for the store, he’s not prepared to invest in another social media app unless there’s a demonstrated return.</p><p>“Well, they won’t be if you don’t connect with them, Patrick.” Alexis shrugs matter-of-factly as she taps on her phone.</p><p>“I definitely don’t want to learn a new social networking app.” David interjects as he fusses with the new summer-themed display in the middle of the store.</p><p>“You haven’t learned a new app since Instagram, David. You’re hardly connected to today’s youth.”</p><p>“I’ll have you know—” His husband breaks off as a group of middle-aged women come into the store. All four of them are wearing matching t-shirts that read ‘We Don’t Deserve Moira Rose’ on them in bright orange letters.</p><p>“Can I help you?” Patrick puts on his best smile, eying their t-shirts. David has yet to notice, he’s standing back from his display, his head tilted to one side as he considers the new arrangement.</p><p>“Um, well we saw the sign out front.” The tall blond woman at the front of the group hesitates, her eyes searching the store. “And we were wondering if this store is connected to Moira Rose or if you are just trying to profit from her name?” Her tone leaves no doubt how she feels about someone illicitly profiting from Moira. As if anyone with any sense would dare to take advantage of Moira.</p><p>Before Patrick determines which answer is best, Alexis marches forward, her hand extended at an angle. “Actually, I am Moira’s daughter and publicist, Alexis.” She flips her free hand towards David. “And that’s my brother David. And the cute button behind the counter is his husband, Patrick.”</p><p>Alexis has made an enormous mistake. The woman’s eyes light up and her mouth forms a silent ‘O’ as she looks between the three of them. “Would it be too much to ask for a photo?”</p><p>“Um…” He doesn’t want random strangers to take his photo. </p><p>“Yes, it would, thank you so much.” David finishes straightening the display and comes to stand beside Patrick behind the counter.</p><p>For a split second, Patrick worries about which way things will go but then the woman nods apologetically. “We’ll just look around then.” The women fan out through the store, comparing products and chatting to one another.</p><p>David’s hand finds the crook of his neck and he pulls Patrick back against his chest. “I need to take Alexis to the airport. Will you be okay?”</p><p>“I think I can handle them.” He leans against David’s solid frame for a moment, relishing the strength hidden beneath his loose-fitting sweater. “I’ll text you if they try to force me to reveal the Rose family secrets. Like how you sleep with your socks on and that you’ve never seen Pretty Woman because of your long-standing grudge against Richard Gere.”</p><p>“Ha.” David kisses him on the cheek and calls to Mariah, who’s waiting hopefully on her bed just inside the stockroom door. “Love you.”</p><p>“Love you too.” One woman who is examining the plants in the front window sighs wistfully. Patrick bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Bye Alexis.” Alexis gives him one last hug and a nose boop for the road and then she and David leave the store, the tapping of Alexis’s heels echoing on the wooden floor as she closes the door behind her.</p><p>Despite the rocky start, he sells five hundred dollars in merchandise to the Sunrise Bay fans, including two sweaters and a handmade Japanese-style teapot. David had insisted the delicate ceramic would be a best-seller but they’ve struggled to move them, causing David to mutter about how their customers don’t know quality when they see it. The women leave eventually, cooing over the Rose Apothecary labels and the store’s connection to Moira. Perhaps they should invest in a sign out front: ‘Owned by the Son of TV’s Moira Rose.’ Maybe he’ll make one just to annoy David. He’s searching through poster templates on Canva when the bell over the door rings.</p><p>A pair of women, one younger and one older come into the store. The younger woman helps the older woman to the counter, her face is wrinkled and lined from being in the sun, but her black eyes are sharp and quick.</p><p>“My name is Natalie.” The younger woman tilts her head to one side as they approach the counter. Natalie gestures to the other woman.</p><p>“This is my grandmother.” The older woman nods at him like he’s being assessed by an unknown metric. He takes his hands out of his pockets and stands up a little straighter.</p><p>“Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Patrick.”</p><p>Laughter flares in the older woman’s eyes as she takes it. She sets her gigantic bag on the counter. “You may call me Louisa.” Both of the women keep their attention focused on him. He tries not to squirm beneath their gaze.</p><p>Digging in her bag, Louisa pulls out two cosmetics jars and sets them on the counter in front of him. Natalie unscrews the lid and hands the open container to him. The glass jar is heavy and cool in his hand. “My grandmother makes hand cream and other products. This one is infused with yarrow and other traditional herbs that promote healing.” Patrick sniffs the jar, it has a fresh scent that reminds him of when the leaves first come out in the spring. He dabs it on the back of his hand like David has taught him and rubs it in. It makes his skin soft without being greasy. Natalie opens the second jar. The scent is softer, more delicate. Natalie hands the second jar to him. “And this is a diaper rash cream.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I need to sample that one.” Louisa laughs loudly, handing him a small victory.</p><p>“We have two dozen different products, but we need distribution.” Natalie’s gaze is steady as her eyes meet his. “I think your store can help us with that.”</p><p>David will kill him if he approves a new product without him. And he won’t be back until late. After he drops Alexis at the airport, David has a meeting with one of Ronnie’s clients in Elmdale. It’s a pattern these past few weeks that David is never here when he needs him. He smiles regretfully at Natalie. “Can I keep these? My husband does all the buying for the store.”</p><p>“Of course, there’s just one thing. We want full distribution. This store, the deal you have with the Rosebud. And co-branding.” Natalie sets a prospectus on top of the jars.</p><p>It’s an aggressive move that shows she’s done her homework and Patrick likes her for it. Still, David likes to have their products prove themselves before he pushes them out to the motel chain. He picks up one of the jars and reads the label that lists the all natural ingredients in each product. He sets the jar down. Normally, he stays out of David’s buying decisions, but he wants to carry these products. “Okay. Let me talk to David.”</p><p>Natalie nods and holds the door open for Louisa. Patrick chews his bottom lip as they leave. Depending on the margins, it could be a profitable relationship for both of them but David likes to do things a certain way. Patrick will just have to do his best to convince him.</p><p>He goes back to Canva as his mind considers the possibilities for Natalie and Louisa’s products. He’ll troll David later. He closes the design program and opens a spreadsheet instead. Flipping open Natalie’s prospectus, he analyzes the potential return for the store. He’s deep into projections for Natalie’s products when the bell rings and Ronnie opens the door. She has a document in one hand and a look on her face that warns him that he won’t enjoy the impending conversation.</p><p>“Patrick.” As always, she stretches out his name, giving a sharp pop to the ‘k’.</p><p>“Hi Ronnie, how can I help you?” He cringes at his fawning tone, judging by the derisive look on her face, it has the same effect on Ronnie.</p><p>“There’s a problem with this agreement.” Ronnie tosses the papers on the counter, a copy of the revised partnership agreement lands in front of him.</p><p>“Okay, what’s the problem?” There’s no point in wishing that David was here to deal with this for him, legal contracts definitely don’t fall into the creative side of the business. He reaches for the document, only to have Ronnie yank it back.</p><p>“This clause…” Ronnie flips to the second page. “...and this clause…” More page flipping. “...contradict each other. And this clause…” Ronnie goes back to the first page. “...isn’t something I’m prepared to live with.” The sections are crossed out with a red pen, like she’s marking his homework.</p><p>He tries to read the clauses as Ronnie’s flipping back and forth but it’s impossible to focus on the complex legal language. “Are you sure?” He regrets the words as soon as he says them, he wishes he could recall them, like a badly sent email, but they hang in the room, practically glowing in neon colors in the air between them.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure.” Ronnie shoves the pages across the counter at him. “Get it together. You can send the updated copy to my lawyer.” She spins on her heel and leaves the store, the door rattling behind her.</p><p>“Nice to see you too.” With a scowl, he gathers up the agreement, silently wishing David had gone into business with literally anyone else, even Roland.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Clint follows the noise of the chainsaw into the backyard just as a section of his fence topples onto the daylilies that Marcy had planted the week before. Seconds later, Roland steps through the hole. He waves his chainsaw at Clint as a greeting.</p><p>“Roland, what are you doing?” He has to yell over the roar of the chainsaw.</p><p>“Isn’t this great? I thought we needed a gate.” Roland yells back as Clint comes down from the back porch towards him.</p><p>“Roland! You just cut a hole in my fence!” The last thing he wants is for Roland to have better access to any part of his property.</p><p>“I cut a hole in your fence!” Roland admires his handiwork, the running chainsaw slices through the air, making Clint take a step back. Maybe this is how he goes, accidentally murdered by an idiot with a chainsaw. Like Jason in one of the Halloween movies except under much more inane circumstances.</p><p>“Roland! I don’t want a hole in my fence.” Halfway through this sentence, Roland finally cuts the power to the chainsaw. Clint’s words reverberate against the house.</p><p>“There’s no need to yell.” Roland looks offended. “I can hear you just fine.”</p><p>Clint rubs a hand over his face. He’d planned to spend the afternoon reading the latest John Grisham novel and organizing the garage, not dealing with a major construction project. “Why did you put a hole in my fence, Roland?”</p><p>“Now if we wanna have parties, we can just open things up.” Roland beams at him and claps him on the shoulder, making him stagger.</p><p>Clint can’t imagine a circumstance where he’d want that to happen. But it’s too late now. Mangled daylily leaves poke out from under the downed section of fence. He’ll just have to get a lock for his new gate. “Fine.” He holds up a hand, forestalling whatever Roland is going to say next. “But on one condition. I’m calling Ronnie to build the gate.”</p><p>Roland leaves him standing in the backyard, baffled and annoyed. He huffs out an angry breath. Marcy will definitely have something to say about the state of her garden when she gets home. The willful arrogance of Roland, damaging his fence without a question or a second thought. He stamps back into the house, slamming the door behind him, immediately tripping over Marcy’s shoes that she’s incapable of putting in the closet. He stomps around the kitchen, a dirty plate in the sink only adds to his irritation. Coffee, maybe he needs a nice cup of coffee to calm his nerves. He picks up the coffee tin. It’s empty. He closes the tin with a loud snap. Maybe a walk will clear his head. And one of Twyla’s pastries. Grabbing his keys from the hook by the door, he heads out to the cafe, scowling as he passes Roland and Jocelyn’s house.</p><p>The afternoon coffee crowd has yet to arrive, so the cafe is quiet, a couple he doesn’t recognize sits at the table by the door. Normally, he would chat with Twyla at the counter, but he doesn’t want to burden her with his foul mood so he takes the back booth instead, trying to corral his temper.</p><p>“Morning, Mr Brewer.” Twyla sets a cup of coffee and a menu in front of him. “Rough day?”</p><p>He smiles grimly. Twyla’s sunny disposition should irritate, but it’s a welcome relief and his sour mood lifts, just a little. “Just some trouble with the neighbors.”</p><p>“Oh, I know how that can be. My mom’s neighbors won’t leave her alone. They’re always bringing over casseroles and asking if she needs anything.” He waits for Twyla’s story to take a dark twist, but she just beams at him. “Can I get you anything else?”</p><p>“Maybe a piece of pie?”</p><p>“George just took a saskatoon pie out of the oven. I’ll get you a piece.”</p><p>Minutes later, Twyla sets a piece of pie topped with an extra helping of ice cream in front of him. He takes a bite, his irritation draining away with the sweetness of the berries when Patrick slides into the booth across from him. Patrick slumps against the back of the booth, his arms crossed in front of him. He raises an eyebrow and gestures towards his plate.</p><p>“Get the pie. It’s making me feel better.” He takes another bite, the sharp cold of the ice cream contrasts beautifully with the hot filling.</p><p>Patrick’s mouth twitches but he orders pie and coffee from Twyla. He nods at Clint. “What happened with you?”</p><p>“Roland put a hole in my fence.” A fresh wave of irritation accompanies the words. “With a chainsaw. You?”</p><p>“I sent the wrong copy of the agreement to Ronnie so she’s pissed at me and thinks I’m even more incompetent than before.” Patrick’s tone is reminiscent of a little boy who failed his spelling homework.</p><p>“Ah.” He nods sympathetically and finishes the last of his pie. He and Patrick have always been alike in that way, neither of them likes to make mistakes. And he wouldn’t want to face down an angry Ronnie either.</p><p>Twyla sets down a slice of pie in front of Patrick just as Stevie slides to stop beside their booth, careening into the edge of the table. “Patrick. Mr Brew— Clint.” Stevie smiles. It’s halfway to a grimace. “I need your help.”</p><p>Patrick shifts over in the booth and Stevie slips in beside him. “Have a seat. And some pie.”</p><p>“Sure. Listen. You know about the buyout deal for the Rosebud, right?” Patrick nods as Clint tries to hide his surprise. “Well, Roland’s insisting that the agreement means that I agreed to hang his photo in the lobby of all the motels as a ‘founding partner.’” Stevie puts her head in her hands. “I can’t get my lawyer on the phone and I need to get this wrapped up today. I know you’re not a lawyer, but...”</p><p>Stevie’s gaze bounces around the cafe and she drags a hand through her hair. Clint interjects. “No, but I am.” Stevie lifts her head and does a double-take.</p><p>“Oh.” Stevie rummages in her leather shoulder bag and pulls out her tablet bringing up a document on the screen. “So here’s the agreement.”</p><p>He reads through the clauses of the agreement. Stevie’s right. He works through the agreement with her, jotting some notes on a napkin for her to write up to take back to Roland. He’s missed this. Not the 9 to 5 schedule of being in an office, but being able to help people and figure things out. Maybe he’s not as ready to retire as he’d thought. They work through to the end of the document and Stevie leaves, napkin in one hand and a more confident bounce in her step.</p><p>“You miss going to work, don’t you?” Patrick finishes the last of his coffee, peering at him over the rim of the cup.</p><p>He shakes his head sheepishly. “Yeah. A booth in the cafe isn’t the best location to be giving legal advice though.” He’s not sure what the solution is. He doesn’t want to rent an office and Marcy probably won’t be happy if he wants to work from home.</p><p>Patrick nods, setting down his cup. “You should talk to Ray. I have a feeling he might have a desk you could use.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>David sets the box of brightly colored mechanical pencils on top of the box of Patrick’s favorite tea. Patrick loves taking notes in pencil in a notebook, like some mid-1950s accountant from the age of ledgers and slide rules. But despite the hideously bright plastic colors they come in, Patrick always loses them; he never has one when he needs it. So, after Patrick had sent him six texts complaining about Ronnie during David’s trip to Elmdale, he’d stopped in at Patrick’s favorite office supply place.</p><p>He’s not good at these little gifts. Planning a luxury weekend in Bora Bora is much easier than convincing himself that Patrick will appreciate a package of pencils and a box of tea. They probably have tea in the cupboard. It’s silly. He moves the boxes again, stacking them side-by-side.</p><p>Patrick brings him little gifts all the time. He picks up on some random memory of David’s and holds on to it for weeks until the opportunity presents itself to give David a perfect encapsulation of that moment, otherwise long since forgotten. Two weeks ago, David had come down for breakfast to find a new phone charger beside the espresso machine after he’d complained about not being able to charge his phone in the kitchen. Reaching out, he toys with the corner of the box. Maybe he should have done something more. Or maybe this is too much? Mariah barks at the back door, breaking his train of thought and David lets her inside, scratching her silky white ears before her small body wiggles free to slurp water from her bowl. Before he can return to his fretting over the gifts, the front door opens and Patrick comes into the kitchen.</p><p>“Hi.” Patrick wraps him into a full hug, tucking his face into the side of David’s neck. “I missed you.”</p><p>“I missed you too.” He places his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, dropping his face into the crook of his elbow, rocking them back and forth. Every hug with Patrick lasts forever, like they’ve stepped into a cliched romance novel or one of those incomprehensible sci-fi TV shows that Patrick likes to watch about time paradoxes.</p><p>Eventually, Patrick lifts his head from David’s shoulder and kisses him softly, one hand at the back of his neck. “Did Alexis get away okay?”</p><p>“Mmm hmm.” He lets Patrick go, keeping one hand on his shoulder, unwilling to break contact. “I got you something.” He nods towards the counter and his husband’s face goes soft and mushy.</p><p>“David. Did you buy me new pencils? And tea?” David rolls his eyes. It’s not like he bought Patrick a Rolex or a new car. He’d paid less than ten dollars for two everyday items.</p><p>“You’re always losing them. The pencils, not the tea. There must be twenty of them in your bag, because where else could they all go and this morning you couldn’t find one and— oomph.” Patrick’s lips cut him off, kissing him much more insistently than before. “I’m sorry you had an awful time with Ronnie today.” He smooths his hands along Patrick’s shoulders.</p><p>Patrick tips his head back and David recognizes it as a gesture that Patrick has learned from him. “She’s gonna hound me about it for years, I just know it.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure she’ll forget about it when you mess up in some other way.” Ronnie will let it go, once the next thing comes along.</p><p>“Thanks, that’s very supportive.” Patrick rolls his eyes at him, but the beginnings of a smile creep across his face for the first time since he came home. “Are you sure you’re okay about Alexis going so soon?”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be?” He’d never admit it, but he loves seeing Alexis when he can, but he’s grown accustomed to the amiable nature of their long-distance relationship.</p><p>Patrick shrugs, looking away to play with the box of pencils. “I thought you might want to talk about New York some more.”</p><p>“Why are you so hung up on New York all of a sudden?” Patrick has been bringing up New York ever since Jackson had come to town. Seeing Jackson has only reinforced his decision to stay in Schitt’s Creek but Patrick is determined to press him.</p><p>“I’m not hung up on New York.” He recoils from the sharpness in Patrick’s voice. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything.”</p><p>“God. How many times do I have to tell you I don’t care about New York?” He thrusts his hands into the air in frustration. “I’m not pining for New York, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.” Patrick stares at him sullenly for a beat too long before the buzz of his phone breaks the silence. Patrick digs it out of the front pocket of his too-tight jeans. The things in Patrick’s pockets are a constant source of irritation. He bites back the words that will only make the situation worse. “It’s my mom. Reminding us about your birthday dinner and asking if we want to play Trivial Pursuit.”</p><p>“I can’t believe your family insists on playing the original version.” There’s more lurking beneath the surface of this conversation, but they don’t have time to get into it now, they’re supposed to be at Clint and Marcy’s for dinner in twenty minutes.</p><p>“It’s a classic.” Patrick leans forward and pecks him on the lips. “I’m gonna take a shower and get changed and then we can go, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.” David chews on his cheek as Patrick goes up the stairs, trying to figure out what’s going on inside his husband’s head.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Marcy sets the chocolate fudge cake in the middle of the dining room table. The single candle flickers as she hands David the knife and he pulls the cake towards him.</p><p>“Make a wish.”</p><p>Something flashes in David’s eyes, nostalgia or wonder, she’s not sure. David takes a deep breath and puffs out a breath of air sending a single wisp of smoke to the ceiling. Patrick rests his arm along the back of David’s chair, his fingers toying with the seam at David’s shoulder as David leans into his touch. Patrick’s been quiet this evening. Is something bothering him? Or is he just content for David to revel in the moment?</p><p>Once everyone has cake, she pulls out the battered Trivial Pursuit board and places it in the middle of the table. “Okay, we all know the house rules. This is rapid-fire, no-holds-barred Trivial Pursuit. First person to yell out the right answer for each question wins. Any questions?” She directs a mock glare around the table. Clint and Patrick frown at the board, dictating strategy with their thoughts. David carefully arranges his plastic pie pieces into a circle, pausing every so often to take a bite of his cake. Patrick wins the roll to take the first turn and he tilts his head, considering his options. Given the choice Patrick will choose either sports or science, but Clint is strong in sports. After far too much thought, he nudges his token to the Sports and Leisure category.</p><p>Marcy clears her throat dramatically as she pulls the first card from the box of questions. “What’s the most popular net sport in American nudist camps?”</p><p>“What?” Patrick sits up straight, his eyes bright as he prepares to argue the legitimacy of the question when a calm voice answers beside him.</p><p>“Volleyball.”</p><p>She flips the card over. “David’s right. Volleyball.”</p><p>Patrick’s eyebrows scoot up his forehead. “How did you know that? Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”</p><p>David shrugs and rolls the dice. “My gallery once hosted a nude volleyball game as a commentary on how the role of nudity in the common zeitgeist.”</p><p>They play through the next sets of questions. She and Clint and Patrick try to avoid David’s strengths in entertainment and arts and despite his initial win, David strikes out on every sports question after that. Clint rolls a three and chooses a sports question.</p><p>“Okay. What game can you squidge, sqoup or pop out in?”</p><p>“Cricket.”</p><p>“Horseshoes.”</p><p>“Horse-racing.”</p><p>“Baseball.” David has answered baseball to every sports question except the first one. He shrugs when Patrick stares at him. “It’s bound to be the right answer at some point.”</p><p>Patrick flips over the card. “Tiddlywinks.”</p><p>Marcy can’t help herself. “Is that really a sport?”</p><p>Patrick grins at her. “Well, they keep score.”</p><p>“I talked to Ray today.” Clint rolls the dice again and counts the spaces towards an arts question. “He’s going to let me use a desk in his office.”</p><p>“That’s great, Dad.” Patrick pulls a card from the box. “A word of advice. Schedule your hours for when Ray does his real estate viewings. He really likes to chat.” David nudges Patrick with his shoulder as he reads the question “Which Renaissance artist liked to pump iron by lifting weights and was strong enough to bend an iron horseshoe with his bare hands?”</p><p>“Da Vinci.” She and David speak at the same time. He raises a well-sculpted eyebrow at her.</p><p>“I guessed.” She confesses as she clears away the plates to the sideboard. “Oh, David, I got an extra copy of the Song of Achilles in Elmdale if you want it.” The copies at the library were checked out, so she’d gone to the bookstore instead.</p><p>“What’s this?” Patrick pauses as he’s about to roll the dice.</p><p>“We’re reading romance novels in our book club, dear. Do you want to join us?”</p><p>“Uh…” Spots of color appear high on Patrick’s cheeks as he rolls the dice.</p><p>“You loved that romance that we read together.” David’s comment makes Patrick’s ears turn pink and he places his marker on an entertainment question. His eyes flick towards her and he blushes even harder.</p><p>“Don’t worry, honey. You don’t have to read romance novels with your mom.” She pats his hand as Clint reads the question.</p><p>“How many holes are there in a bagpipe bag?”</p><p>“Two.”</p><p>“Five.”</p><p>“Nine. No, eight.”</p><p>“Twelve.”</p><p>Everyone shouts their answers at the same time. “Have any of you even seen a set of bagpipes? The answer is eight. Patrick got it.”</p><p>“Yes.” Patrick pumps his fist, almost upsetting the board. He’s tied with David now with just one wedge to go before they make a run for the final question.</p><p>Patrick rolls the dice, moving towards the history space that he needs for his last pie piece. David reads out the card. “What was America’s first ever organized sporting event in 1664?”</p><p>“Archery.”</p><p>“Polo.”</p><p>“Running.”</p><p>“Baseball.”</p><p>“No, David, baseball was first played in 1845 between the New York…” Patrick trails off as David lifts a single, expressive eyebrow and throws up his hands.</p><p>“Oh my god! Of course, you would know that. But you didn’t know that the first sporting event was horse-racing.” David is always delighted whenever Patrick gets a sports question wrong.</p><p>Patrick rolls his eyes and the game continues on. David and Patrick both get their last pie pieces but neither of them roll the right number to make it into the center for the final question. Finally, David rolls a six that takes him to the middle of the board. He chooses entertainment as the category for his last question.</p><p>Patrick reads the question with a slight groan. “Who was the official hair consultant to the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics?”</p><p>Before anyone else attempts an answer, David smirks at Patrick. “Vidal Sassoon. Which anyone who claims to be a sports fan should definitely know.”</p><p>Patrick flicks the card at him. “Pretty sure that doesn’t have anything to do with sports.”</p><p>“It’s right there in the question, you just can’t admit that I know more than you do about sports.” David squirms sideways as Patrick pinches his side, the two of them laughing as Patrick fumbles in the box of cards for a different sports question, determined to prove his superior knowledge.</p><p>It’s hard to believe that a week ago they’d all been so uncomfortable they could barely look at each other. The edginess that has marked Patrick since they’d moved here has gone, he laughs as he teases David about being able to name the hair consultant but none of the sports from the 1984 Olympics. And David is so comfortable with them now. The David currently squabbling with her son, <em>his husband</em> about trivial pursuit questions is so very different from the carefully constructed David Rose that they had met all those years before. “Who wants more cake?”</p><p>David stops mid-sentence and raises his hand. “Oh, I do.”</p><p>On the other hand, some things haven’t changed at all.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>
  <em>“I knew how pleasure looked on him.”</em>
</p><p>David sprawls across their bed, the book Patrick’s mom had given him in one hand, reading glasses framed by his dark eyebrows, his head tucked into the crease of Patrick’s thigh. Patrick leans against the headboard, tangling his hand into David’s hair as the cadence of his husband’s voice floats around him, the rumble of the syllables murmured into his belly. His hand stops moving as he gets caught up in the story of Patroclus’ love for Achilles. “Wait, my <em>mom</em> is reading this book?”</p><p>“Mmm.” David flips the page. His voice drops as the love story deepens. The word erotic had never held much meaning for Patrick before he’d known David. The combination of the sensuality of the love story and the growl of David’s voice and the sight of his gorgeous husband stretched out beside him is, without question, erotic. He tightens his hand in David’s hair and David tilts his head back, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Did you want something?”</p><p>“The same thing I always want. This. You. God, David.” He clenches his fingers again and David’s smile deepens. Glacially slowly, David bookmarks the page and he leans over to set his reading glasses and the book on the nightstand. He lays his head back in Patrick’s lap and grins cheekily up at him.</p><p>“You’ve got me. Now what?” His voice is a low purr that removes the last shreds of his control. He thrusts both hands into David’s hair, pulling harder than before until David’s eyes go dark. Patrick bends to kiss him and David surges to meet him, the kiss turning to a desperate, frantic thing that ends with him pinning David to the bed as his black eyes laugh up at him.</p><p>His hips thrust into David’s, an urgent need overtaking him. David must feel it too, his body rises to meet him, the sharpness fades from his eyes leaving them wild and unfocused. David’s fingers dig into his hips and even through his sleep pants the layers of sensation are too much, he grinds into David one last time before he comes with a cry. David’s hands clench on his skin and he follows, his breath hot and uneven as he gasps into Patrick’s neck.</p><p>David’s hands release his hips, sliding around his lower back to cradle them together. With a soft sigh, he lies his head on David’s chest, his head tucked beneath his chin. In a minute, this will be sticky and uncomfortable but for now it’s cozy and safe. “What did you wish for?”</p><p>“Hmm?” David’s voice is soft and sleepy, his breath warm against Patrick’s forehead.</p><p>“When you blew out your candle. What did you wish for?”</p><p>There’s a lengthy pause and he’s not sure if David wants to answer the question. “The same thing I always wish for.” David’s voice is soft in his ear. “This. You.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Cabin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>Marcy turns the page of her book. The book club doesn’t meet until next week but she only has a handful of pages left. She takes a sip of her coffee; across the table Clint is doing the New York Times crossword on his tablet. Despite his ongoing complaints that the digital version lacks the authenticity of filling in the paper version in ink, he still completes it every morning with his coffee. With a soft smile his foot catches hers beneath the table.</p><p>She returns to Ancient Greece, getting swept up in Patroclus’ love for Achilles, in the battle for Troy. She’s so caught up in the story that she gasps aloud when the spear pierces Patrocles’ body, tears slipping down her cheeks as Achilles grieves his lover. Clint looks up, concerned as she wipes the tears away. “Are you okay?”</p><p>She reaches for her bookmark, nodding back at him. “They killed Patroclus.” The ripple of emotion lingers. Reading about Patroclus’ love for Achilles and the intense rage his death will unleash is a lot before breakfast. </p><p>“Did you know the siege of Troy lasted ten years?”</p><p>“I do now.” A rush of affection washes through her. On their first date, Clint had leaned across the table at the pizza parlour and very seriously asked her if she knew that the first pizza had been eaten a thousand years before.</p><p>“Who was in My Cousin Vinny?” Clint points at his tablet. “Starts with a ‘T’.”</p><p>“Marisa Tomei.” Spending these mornings together has become her favorite part of being in Schitt’s Creek. Before, they would grab a hurried breakfast and rush to work, occasionally lingering on the weekends unless family pulled them away. But now, they can dawdle all morning with nowhere to be.</p><p>“What time are David and Patrick coming?” She and Clint have agreed to watch Mariah while David and Patrick enjoy a few days away.</p><p>“Ten o’clock.” She grins at Clint. “I don’t know how Patrick persuaded David to get out of bed so early.” Knowing Patrick and David, ten o’clock was probably a compromise. She’s sure that Patrick would have preferred to leave earlier to make the most of their extended weekend getaway, while David undoubtedly wanted to sleep later.</p><p>She gets up to pour herself another cup of coffee. She tops off Clint’s cup before sitting back down. “Are you going to Ray’s today?”</p><p>Clint nods. “I want to get things set up. And Jocelyn says she wants to talk to me about something.”</p><p>Jocelyn probably needs another favor. She’ll soften her request with a delivery of cookies and a smile so Clint can’t say no. “It’s probably about the fundraiser.” After the misunderstanding about Twyla’s yoga classes, Clint had given his list back to Jocelyn, saying he wasn’t the right person for the job. “Don’t let her make you the head of the catering team.”</p><p>An hour later, they’re still dillydallying over breakfast when the doorbell rings. She opens the door to find Patrick, David and Mariah on the doorstep. Mariah barks sharply, jumping up at her knee before Marcy can say hello, demanding attention. “Mariah, down.” Ignoring Patrick, she bends down to scratch the dog’s ears before holding the door open so Mariah, followed more sedately by David and Patrick, can come inside.</p><p>“I can’t thank you enough.” Patrick sets the gigantic box he’s carrying on the bench by the door.</p><p>“Oh honey, it’s our pleasure.” In the kitchen, Clint unclips Mariah’s lead. She sits obediently at his feet as he feeds her a leftover piece of bacon.</p><p>“We brought a few of her things.” David gestures to the overly large box, a fluffy white dog bed sticks out the top.</p><p>“Why don’t you bring that into the kitchen?” Patrick scoops up the box again and follows her into the kitchen. Clint has picked Mariah up, he’s holding her on her back while he scratches her tummy. Her tongue lolls happily as she grins at them.</p><p>Clint sets Mariah on floor as David takes her things out of the box. “This is her bed. I know she has a bed here, but I wanted her to feel comfortable.” There’s an anxious look in David’s eyes as he hands over the dog bed. Marcy carries it into the living room and sets it down in front of the fireplace, beside the bed they’d bought Mariah a couple of months ago. Mariah follows at her heels, giving the bed a quick sniff once she’s put it on the floor, her tail wagging. “And her dishes.” David hands over a pair of ceramic bowls that are nicer than some of the ones Marcy has in her cupboard. A bag of food follows the dishes and David issues strict instructions to feed her twice a day.</p><p>“Okay, this seems straightforward—” But David isn’t finished.</p><p>“It’s supposed to be sunny while we’re gone, but just in case, I packed her raincoat and her booties and a warmer coat in case it gets cold.” David sets a collection of black and white dog coats on the counter. Behind David’s back, her son shakes his head and mouths ‘don’t worry about it’.</p><p>“I brought all of her toys.” Some chew toys and a stuffed narwhal join the coats. Mariah catches sight of the narwhal and barks, sitting politely at Marcy’s feet.</p><p>“Do you want this?” Mariah’s tail wags frantically and she gives a soft half bark. Marcy hands over the toy and Mariah carries it proudly to her bed in the living room, tail wagging happily. David watches her go, a distressed look on his face as he wrings his hands together.  </p><p>“Okay, David. She’ll be fine.” Patrick grasps David’s shoulder, tugging him gently by the door.</p><p>“We’ve never left her before.” David follows reluctantly, spinning the rings on his right hand as he looks back at the dog. “What if she misses us?”</p><p>Behind them, the dog nuzzles happily at her stuffed toy, oblivious to the fact that David and Patrick are leaving her behind. “She’ll be fine, I promise we’ll text if anything goes wrong.” She pushes them out the door, waving as they get in the car. “Have a great time.”</p><p>She turns to Clint. “She’s just a dog, what could go wrong?”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“This is going to be good for us, I think.”</p><p>Patrick takes his hand off the steering wheel and rests it on David’s leg. “I think so too.” Between the store and his parents and David’s new arrangement with Ronnie they’ve hardly had any time to themselves in months. Their lives have always been centered on the store, but lately they’ve been moving in two separate orbits, with David branching out and doing new things by himself while Patrick keeps the store running. Three days alone together will get them back on the same page.</p><p>“Does the cabin have wifi?” Forcing David to fully disconnect from the world just makes him distracted and irritable. So Patrick always makes sure their accommodations have internet, even though his plans include lots of other ways to divert David’s attention.</p><p>“The cabin has wifi. And a hot tub and a waffle maker.” He squeezes David’s thigh lightly. “But I will keep you too busy in the hot tub for you to care about the internet.”</p><p>“Hmm.” David flips through his phone and the pop beat fills the car speakers. “What if I’m more interested in the waffle maker, though?”</p><p>“I will make you all the waffles you want.” He’d packed extra chocolate sauce and fresh strawberries from Mr Choi’s farm just in case. And, if he finds other opportunities to feed David strawberries, neither of them will complain.</p><p>“Don’t make promises you might regret.” He teases his fingers along David’s inseam. He’s still looking at his phone, but there’s a smile tucked into his cheek.</p><p>It’s one of these perfect summer days. It’s going to be hot, but not too hot, just warm enough that he can walk around with just his shorts on and warm enough that David might discard his sweater in favor of a t-shirt. Patrick hums happily to himself and turns up the music to sing along.</p><p>
  <em>I’m walking on sunshine…</em>
</p><p>David makes a face at his singing and looks up from his phone. “Ronnie wants me to go to Thornbridge with her next week. She has a new client.”</p><p>His good mood seeps away, like a slow leak in an air mattress. “Can we maybe not talk about Ronnie on our fun weekend getaway?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” David’s mouth is set as he stares out the window for a moment. “I noticed you sampled some new products without telling me.”</p><p>“What? I didn’t—” The products Natalie and Louisa had brought in last week. He’d forgotten to tell David about them. “Maybe we can talk about this later? I’ve barely seen you long enough to talk about anything.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure.” David repeats himself. Patrick takes his eyes from the road, glancing towards him, but David’s gaze is fixed on the endless string of trees that flash by on the side of the highway. “You know, if this isn’t working for you, all you have to do is say something.”</p><p>“If <em>what</em> isn’t working for me?” He picks his words carefully, not wanting to escalate this into a fight they can’t come back from.</p><p>“I don’t know. The store. My thing with Ronnie. Whatever.” David picks at his cuticle, a sure sign of his distress. “You seem...restless.”</p><p>“I’m not sure how you’d know that since you’re away all the time.” The words are sharp and he wants to take them back so they don’t contaminate their weekend together. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel as the lines on the road flash past.</p><p>“So you do have a problem with it, then.” The music shifts from the upbeat pop song to the soft sounds of Norah Jones singing ‘Come Away with Me.’ Patrick signals to turn off the highway, the road that leads to the cabin is narrow and lined with trees, the sun flickers through the leaves.</p><p>“I don’t want to hold you back.” <em>I don’t want you to leave me behind.</em> The thought takes his breath away and he’s glad that driving forces him to keep his eyes on the road.</p><p>“You don’t want to hold me back.” David’s voice is flat. Patrick signals and carefully turns off the road into a small driveway, anger adding a layer of precision to his movements. A sign at the gate reads ‘Welcome to Wood Lily Cottage.’ He parks the car in front of the wood-framed cabin, his hands white on the steering wheel. This isn’t how he wants this weekend to go. Through the trees, the water of the lake is clear and blue. He longs to play and laugh and love David here, to dive in the water and lay in the sun. Instead, he’s opened something up that neither of them can ignore.</p><p>“David—” For the first time since they’ve known each other, David might be moving away from him, leaving him behind, trapped in Schitt’s Creek. How can he put that into words? He shakes his head at David.</p><p>“Why don’t you let me know when you’ve figured out what you want to say.” David gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. In the rearview mirror, David struggles to take his bag out of the back of their Subaru. Finally, David wrestles it out of the car, leaving the hatch open, he drags the suitcase up the short run of stairs, before wheeling it along the path to the door. Patrick unclenches his hands from the steering wheel and gets out of the car, taking David’s smaller bag and his own suitcase and following David to the door. He punches in the code for the door and waves David inside.</p><p>It’s cute. Floor to ceiling windows frame an open style living room-kitchen that looks out over the lake. The hot tub sits on one corner of the large deck and a wooden dock leads down to the water. As David struggles to carry his bag upstairs to the loft-style bedroom, Patrick sets the two bags he’s carrying by the front door and crosses the room so he can open the French doors and step out on the deck.</p><p>There’s the faintest breeze. Just enough to keep the temperature from being unbearably hot. Across the lake, a handful of other docks reach into the water, colorful Adirondack chairs and canoes mark the end of each one. He rolls his shoulders. He wants a relaxing getaway, filled with good food and hours in the hot tub and cuddles on the couch. Instead, they’re going to have to have this conversation that’s been building for months. With a sigh, he goes down the steps to bring the cooler and the box of food in from the car.</p><p>He’s in the kitchen putting away the last of the food when David comes down the stairs and thrusts his phone at him. “Stevie wants to talk to you.” David curls up on the sofa, tucking his legs underneath him. He’s changed into one of his snuggliest sweaters, the one he wears when he’s feeling vulnerable. Guilt clogs Patrick’s throat.</p><p>“Stevie.”</p><p>“I was in a meeting.” Even over the phone Stevie’s normally abrupt tone is even crisper than usual.</p><p>“Okay?” She’d wanted to talk to him, but he has a feeling she’s not in the mood for him to point that out.</p><p>“I don’t like it when David texts me about you when I’m in a meeting.” He runs a hand through his hair, the curls tug at his fingers. David nestles into the couch, flipping through an old National Geographic. “I know you’re both a pair of idiots, but maybe just once you could use your words like a grown up?”</p><p>She’s right. Leaving things like this will ruin the only weekend they’ve had alone together in months. On the couch, David flips a page of the magazine more dramatically than is warranted and Patrick wants to snuggle into his arms and pull his attention away from the article on penguins he’s pretending to read. But they need to have a conversation first. “I know. You’re right.”</p><p>“What did you just say?” He winces as she crows gleefully at him.</p><p>“Goodbye Stevie.” He ends the call and walks over the sofa. He presses a soft kiss to the top of David’s head, handing back his phone as he sits beside him on the couch. “Let’s talk about this.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“It is so great that you’re here.” Ray clasps his hands in front of him and beams at Clint. “I’ve cleared off the desk for you.” Ray gestures to the desk in the corner, a space in the middle is empty but a collection of travel themed knick-knacks line the edge. “Did you know this used to be Patrick’s desk? I feel honored to be part of this full-circle moment.”</p><p>“I did not.” It might have been a hundred years ago. Talking on the phone with Patrick, trying to envision the town he’d moved to, never imagining that he was falling in love with David Rose. Even now, after the revelations and the conversations and David and Patrick’s wedding, the thought of it still pinches his heart a little.</p><p>“Oh, yes.” Ray nods emphatically. “I only hope your tenure here is more successful than Patrick’s was. He only lasted two months.” Ray chuckles. “Of course, we were roommates for much longer. You don’t want to rent my spare bedroom, do you?” Ray snorts at his own joke as Clint smiles politely.</p><p>“No, no, just the desk is fine.” Clint picks up the box he’d brought from home and sets it on the chair in front of the desk. The precisely arranged papers and brown leather desk organizer he’s brought from his old office seem out of place amid all of Ray’s things.</p><p>“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m showing the old airplane hanger on Route 1 this afternoon. It’s the perfect space for a start up dance academy. Or perhaps a warehouse for a burgeoning model train collection? The possibilities are truly endless.” Ray beams at him happily, shutting the door behind him.</p><p>After Ray leaves, Clint moves the assorted globes and miniature double-decker buses to one of the shelves on the side of the room and unpacks his box. He’s setting the last of his legal reference books on the shelf behind the desk when Jocelyn comes in.</p><p>“Clint!” Jocelyn half-shuffles, half-glides toward him, a bright pink file folder in one hand and a plate of Nanaimo bars in the other. She sets the baking on his desk and bounces on her toes in front of him. “This is so exciting. It’s like being in the presence of a real lawyer.”</p><p>“Well, I am a real lawyer.” He takes a legal pad out of the drawer. “What can I do for you, Jocelyn?”</p><p>“Well.” Jocelyn sits in the chair in front of his desk and leans forward. “You know the fundraiser…”</p><p>“Jocelyn, I told you—” </p><p>“No, no. Gwen is looking after the donations now. And between you and me, she’s much better connected than you were.” Jocelyn flaps her hands at him. “Anyway, I have exciting news. We’re changing the date of the fundraiser because the Sunrise Bay Fan Convention is coming to Schitt’s Creek.” Jocelyn beams at him, her smile falling away at his lack of excitement.</p><p>“And?” Does David know that the Fan Convention exists or that it’s coming to Schitt’s Creek? Whether he knows or not, there’s no question that he will hate it.</p><p>“And I want to get the rights so the Jazzagals can perform the Sunrise Bay theme song. I thought you might help me with that.” She hands over the file folder.</p><p>“Hmm.” He opens the folder, researching legal agreements is more in his wheelhouse. “Did you know that the first soap opera aired in 1949?”</p><p>“No.” Jocelyn is at a loss for what to say next.</p><p>“These Are My Children.” Jocelyn frowns at him, puzzled. “The name of the first soap opera.” He gestures to the folder. “I’ll look at this.”</p><p>“I wanted to ask your advice about something else.” Instead of getting up to leave, Jocelyn twists her hands in her lap and leans forward, lowering her voice. “Your advice is confidential. You’re not allowed to tell anyone about our conversation, right?”</p><p>“Well, you haven’t paid me, but sure.”</p><p>“Great. So here’s the thing. Rollie and I want to spice things up in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.” Jocelyn smiles at him like she’s just won the Elks Club meat draw. Clint grimaces, hiding his revulsion behind his fake smile. “And we thought that it might be fun to try one of Jake’s whiskey nights and I’m wondering if you think that’s a good idea?”</p><p>Clint chokes on his coffee. “Jocelyn, I’m not a marriage counselor or a, um, sex therapist. I can’t give you that kind of advice. If you have a legal problem—”</p><p>“Oh. Well, how about legally?”</p><p>“You want legal advice about going to Jake’s for a <em>whiskey</em>?” They’re not talking about whiskey. He’d rather not be talking about this at all. “Jocelyn, unless you’re going to have Jake sign a contract, I don’t think there’s a legal issue here.”</p><p>“Oh. I thought you were providing advice.” Jocelyn’s face falls. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes. Very sure.” He’s never been more sure of anything. Or more sure that he wants to bring this conversation to a sudden end. “If there’s nothing else…”</p><p>“There is one other thing, but you probably wouldn’t be interested.” He grimaces at Jocelyn. What’s she going to say now?</p><p>“Okay?” He leans back in his chair, hoping this won’t be another request to help with the fundraiser or whatever other project Jocelyn has on the go. Or even worse, another question about Jake.</p><p>“Marcy said you were looking for a new hobby? And my knitting group meets this afternoon?” Jocelyn beams at him hopefully before trailing off. “But it’s probably not your thing.”</p><p>Men don’t knit. He holds back the words before they slip out, considering. His mom had been a knitter and his grandmother, out of necessity more than anything. And Marcy knits, a little. But there were never any men in his life who knitted or sewed. His dad would have said it was ‘women’s work’ and it’s not that he agrees with that, but no one had ever suggested the opportunity before. He’d never thought men were interested in fashion or skincare either, before David Rose had come along and challenged his perceptions about the things that men liked. Maybe trying something new means breaking out of his comfort zone. “Uh, I’ve never knitted before. I don’t have any...needles? Or yarn?”</p><p>“We always have extra. Why don’t you come try it? You won’t know if you like it until you give it a go. Four o’clock. At the cafe.” No one will know. No one in this town will gossip or make jokes that Clint Brewer is knitting. The freedom of being unnoticed and unremarked upon hits him like an anvil.</p><p>He nods as Jocelyn gets up to leave. “Four o’clock. I’ll see you then.” He never thought about knitting one way or the other, but a spark of excitement grows inside him. Maybe he’ll make a sweater. Not this afternoon, obviously, but eventually. Something warm to wear in the fall that would remind him of the sweaters his mom used to knit for him. Humming to himself, he opens Jocelyn’s folder, reviewing the process for requesting performance rights.</p><p>He gets to the cafe exactly at four o’clock. Jocelyn, Twyla, Ronnie and another woman sit at the table near the door, yarn and knitting needles spread out on the table in front of them. </p><p>“Clint! So glad you could come.” Jocelyn waves him over. “Do you know Gwen?” An older woman with short grey hair looks up from her knitting and nods at him. “Gwen and Twyla are practicing for the National Knitting Championships.”</p><p>Oh right. He remembers now. Gwen had been at Jake’s the other evening. Apparently, everyone in this town goes to Jake’s. He pushes away the memory of the way Jake had kissed Patrick. “Hi.” Is Gwen going to say something about that night? But she just nods hello, counting under her breath, her attention focused on her stitches.</p><p>“Okay, let’s get you started.” Jocelyn hands him a pair of knitting needles and a ball of blue wool. “Everyone makes a scarf for their first project.” She shows him the stitches and reminds him to count. It’s clumsy at first, like the first time he’d used chopsticks, but gradually he gets the hang of it, his needles clicking more rapidly. He’s knitted two inches of what he’s starting to think of as <em>his</em> scarf when Jocelyn stops him. “Oh no, you dropped some stitches.” She points to a hole about halfway down his finished rows. “You’ll have to pull that apart and go back to that point.” He wants to refuse, to ignore the flaw and keep going. His confidence evaporates as he unwinds half of his work. He starts again, more slowly this time, taking care to count his stitches and not drop any as the conversation shifts and flows around him.</p><p>“I heard a rumor that Moira might come back to town for the fan convention.” Twyla fingers fly as she knits what looks like an enormous tea cozy out of bright orange yarn.</p><p>“Clint? You’re the one with inside information about the Rose family.” Seeing Johnny and Moira twice a year doesn’t qualify as inside information and David hasn’t mentioned anything.</p><p>He pauses in his knitting, unable to knit and talk at the same time. He shakes his head. “Sorry, I just heard about the convention from you this morning. And David and Patrick are out of town.”</p><p>“I don’t know about this fan convention.” Ronnie looks up from the tiny pink sweater she’s knitting. “It’s bad enough the Sunrise Bay fans have discovered us, I don’t think we should encourage them.”</p><p>“I think it’s good to have new people come to town.” Gwen puts a marker on the needles for the sock she’s knitting. “I always enjoy meeting people from out of town.”</p><p>Ronnie rolls her eyes and holds up the baby sweater. “Melissa’s due next week, so I should finish this in time as long as she’s not early.”</p><p>Jocelyn nods towards Ronnie. “Ronnie likes to knit things for the women’s shelter in Elmdale.”</p><p>Clint has about three inches of his scarf done. How long are scarves, anyway? He smooths out the edge where it wants to curl. “Do you want to add a different color?” Jocelyn offers him a ball of black yarn. “You’ll have to count the rows and the stitches.”</p><p>“Sure.” Jocelyn takes him through switching colors. It’s soothing, having something to keep his hands busy and he likes how quickly his scarf grows. The hour flies by and he has four inches of his scarf finished when Jocelyn and the others pack up their things.</p><p>“Why don’t you take these home with you?” Jocelyn hands him the two balls of yarn. “You can do some more before we meet again next week.” He juggles the yarn for a minute before digging his fingers into the tightly wound balls to keep them from bouncing away.</p><p>Knitting isn’t something he’d ever considered before, but he wants to finish his scarf. “Okay. I’ll see you next week.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>David takes back his phone from Patrick as his husband settles onto the couch beside him. “Let’s talk about this.”</p><p>He tips his head back against the back of the couch. The lofted ceiling rises well over his head, the blond pine boards shine warmly in the afternoon sun. “Do you really think you’re holding me back?”</p><p>“I—” Patrick swallows roughly. “It feels like you’re building things without me.” The fear and worry underlying Patrick’s words cuts through him. This is why Patrick has been obsessed with New York. A lump rises in David’s throat.</p><p>Patrick’s rubbing his left palm with his thumb, stroking it over and over as he stares down at his hands. “I—” David stops short. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”</p><p>“I know.” Patrick’s eyes meet his; love and a tiny thread of fear shine back at him. “We’re just so busy all the time and it makes me jealous that Stevie and even Ronnie get to spend time with you when I can’t.” Patrick pushes out a deep breath. “When we stayed— when I <em>wanted</em> to stay, I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives here.”</p><p>“And now?” Patrick has never said that he’s wanted more than what they have now. He’s kept his promise to make David happy and David’s never considered that maybe one day it would be Patrick who might need something more than the store, than this town. What if Patrick needs more than him? His old fears, long buried, bubble to the surface. What if the things that Patrick wants aren’t the same as what he wants?</p><p>“I feel trapped.” David flinches and Patrick’s hand grasps his arm. “Not by you. God, never by you.” Patrick’s voice shakes at the thought. “But now, with my parents here and the store on a good foundation...I want something more.” Patrick swallows audibly, his eyes are bright. “This isn’t enough. Not for the rest of my life.” Patrick looks away, but not before David can see the panic in his eyes.</p><p>“So, what? Do you want to move? Sell the store?” It’s like he’s picking his way through a minefield, waiting for the fatal step when an unseen bomb explodes in his face.</p><p>“No. I don’t think so.” Patrick slides his hand down David’s arm and tangles their fingers together. David squeezes them tightly, waiting for Patrick to continue. When he does, his laugh is shaky and uncertain. “I don’t know what I want. You. Always you.” Patrick’s hand grips his tightly, his knuckles are white. “And something different, something challenging where I can get out of Schitt’s Creek once in a while.” Patrick has always been the grounded one, the person who keeps David anchored. But he’s also the one who buries his feelings. Maybe it’s time they both think about the unfamiliar things they want to explore.</p><p>“Well, we’ve got three days together to talk about this.” He wraps his arms around Patrick, pulling him close until his back presses against David’s chest. Patrick sighs softly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he cuddles into David and his snuggliest sweater surrounds them both. If someone had told him five years ago that he’d be the calm, supportive one while Patrick struggled to figure out his future, he would have laughed until he blacked out. But here they are. He kisses the corner of Patrick’s jaw; his lips linger as Patrick tips his head back against his shoulder. His stomach growls, making them both chuckle. “But first, I need to eat.”</p><p>He’d given Patrick a grocery list of must-haves for their trip and Patrick filled in the gaps of the menu. Two steaks are the first things out of the fridge. His mouth waters at the smell of Patrick’s homemade marinade. Patrick adds asparagus and potatoes to the items on the counter. David wraps them in foil as Patrick preps the steaks.</p><p>Even with the different configuration of the kitchen, it’s a well-practiced dance that they’ve done a hundred times. Patrick takes the food out to the grill on the back deck of the cabin as David gathers up the dishes and condiments, bringing the salt and pepper and the barbeque spice because Patrick always forgets. He sets the dishes on the patio table and goes back inside, snagging a wine glass and the bottle of red from the counter and grabbing Patrick’s favorite beer from the fridge along with his phone and bluetooth speaker.</p><p>Patrick has the grill started and the food distributed into different zones of the grill when David comes back onto the deck. He’s wearing his Cafe Tropicale baseball cap and he’s making impatient clicking noises with the tongs as he contemplates the closed barbeque. David slips the beer into his hand and wraps his arms around his shoulders.</p><p>“Every time we do this, I can’t get over how you look.” He nuzzles at Patrick’s ear, he smells like sun and smoke and summer.</p><p>“How handsome I look, you mean?” The teasing note is back in Patrick’s voice and David wants to wrap himself up in it.</p><p>“I was going to say cliched, but sure.” Patrick looks good, is the thing. He’s masculine in a way that David never thought he’d find appealing. David wants to strip him down and take him apart. His stomach rumbles in protest at a possible delay to their dinner plans. Patrick puts the tongs on top of the barbeque and brings the hand that’s not holding his beer up to cup the back of David’s head. Normally, it would be an invitation, but Patrick just tangles his fingers into David’s hair and draws him closer. They sway together, not needing to say anything, until Patrick reaches for the tongs and checks on the food.</p><p>David plants a kiss at the corner of Patrick’s shoulder and sets the table, arranging the plates and cutlery and napkins on the table so that the place settings are kitty-corner to each other and they both have a view of the lake. On his phone, he brings up his specially curated vacation playlist and turns the volume down so that Mariah Carey provides just the right amount of background music. He pulls out the padded patio chair and sinks into it. Despite the coarse canvas fabric, it’s surprisingly comfortable and he stretches his legs out beneath the table, the sun soaking into his skin as Patrick finishes grilling.</p><p>Once Patrick has poked and prodded the steaks to his satisfaction, he brings the food to the table, dividing the portions onto their plates. Taking the other chair, Patrick’s knee knocks softly into David’s. At the invitation, David tangles his foot between Patrick’s, sliding his toes up the back of his calf. Normally, sock feet in an outdoor setting would be incorrect, but for this weekend, he’s willing to consider the deck an extension of the indoor space.</p><p>Even with the rough start to their day, the cabin is like being surrounded by a warm, safe bubble with the two of them as the only inhabitants. Nothing that happens in the real world matters for the next three days, all he cares about is this moment with Patrick. He finishes half his steak before he’s ready to start their conversation again. Taking a drink of his wine and he hooks his foot around Patrick’s ankle. “So, when you say ‘get out of Schitt’s Creek’ what do you mean?”</p><p>Patrick puts down his knife and fork and sips his beer before he looks over at David. “I love our store.” He slides his fingertips over the back of David’s wrist, letting them linger. “But now that everything’s set up with the Rosebud, it almost runs itself, you know?” Patrick runs a finger under the cuff of David’s sweater but it’s thoughtful, not seductive, as though Patrick is using the touch of David’s skin to ground himself. “I want to build something new. With you.”</p><p>When they’d started the store, desperation had driven them, the desire to prove themselves coursing through every decision, making everything urgent and larger than life. But now, they don’t have to rush. They can take the time to create something even bigger and better than what they’ve already done. An avalanche of ideas overwhelms him. “David?” Patrick’s worried voice jolts him out of his thoughts.</p><p>“I have so many ideas.” The emotions of the past few hours roll over him and he tips his head back to blink away the tears that form out of nowhere.</p><p>Patrick’s fingers tighten on his wrist. “David? Are you okay?”</p><p>He shakes his head frantically, willing away the tears. Warmth and safety and love have filled the past five years. The thoughts of stepping out of that comfort zone with Patrick beside him reignites a fire that he had kept banked. “This isn’t supposed to be about me. I just— God, I want this so badly.”  </p><p>Patrick grins, his first genuine smile since that morning, it’s bright and bold. “Then let's make it happen.” His finger runs along David’s wrist again, and this time it’s filled with promise. David leans in to kiss him, thoughts of the next five years clamouring inside him.</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>“Thank you for coming in.” Marcy wraps up the candles and places them in a Rose Apothecary tote. With David and Patrick away, Marcy is covering the store until Monique takes the afternoon shift. With a happy smile, the woman who purchased the candles takes the bag, holding the door open for Stevie on her way out.</p><p>“Good morning, Stevie.” It’s not often that she sees Stevie without David or Patrick present.</p><p>“Morning.” Stevie sets the bag of apples on the counter and takes a wedge of brie and a jar of tapenade out of the cooler before adding a package of homemade crackers and two bottles of wine to her selection.</p><p>“Are you having a party?” She shouldn’t pry, but the unusual assortment of food makes her curious.</p><p>“Um. No. It’s just for me. Usually I go over to David and Patrick’s for dinner on Saturdays, but they’re away, so…” Stevie trails off, embarrassed.</p><p>Stevie can’t sit at home and eat cheese and apples for dinner just because David and Patrick are out of town. “Why don’t you come to our house for dinner?”</p><p>“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” Stevie shakes her head, but there’s a hopeful look in the back of her eyes.</p><p>“I insist. We’re looking after the store and the dog while David and Patrick are away. We can look after you, too.” Marcy stops, stumbling over her words. “Not that you’re— not that you’re in the same category as the store or the dog. We’d just— I’d just like a chance to get to know you better.”</p><p>“Oh. Um. Okay.” Stevie snickers at her incoherent answer and she puts the items she’d chosen back on the shelf. “Well, uh, thank you. I’ll still take the wine, though.”</p><p>“Oh, honey, it’s my pleasure.” With a duck of her head and a repeated promise to see them that night, Stevie leaves the store, her purchases tucked safely in the familiar Rose Apothecary tote.</p><p>The doorbell rings promptly at six o’clock. Stevie is wearing a black blazer over her jeans and white t-shirt and Marcy is oddly touched that she’s made an effort. She steps out of the doorway and Stevie hands over one of the bottles of wine Marcy had sold her that morning and bends to greet Mariah who races out of the living room, her tail wagging madly.</p><p>“Dinner’s almost ready.” Stevie follows her to the kitchen where Clint is setting the dining room table.</p><p>“Stevie. Glad you could make it.” Clint hands over a glass of red wine and Stevie takes a grateful sip. “Marcy, I just took the lasagna out of the oven, so I think everything is ready.”</p><p>“Perfect timing.” She gestures towards a seat on the far side of the dining table. “Why don’t you sit over there, Stevie?” They settle in around the table, Marcy serves the lasagna and passes around the salad while Clint tops up the wine glasses.</p><p>“This is delicious, I can’t thank you enough for inviting me.” Stevie takes a second bite. “Patrick makes a good lasagna, but yours is even better.”</p><p>“I taught him everything he knows.” Clint’s laughter breaks the ice a little and Stevie’s shoulders relax. It doesn’t escape her how alike Stevie and David are. Stevie lacks David’s dramatic flamboyance, but they both wield words as though they’re weapons and keep almost everyone at arm’s length. She suspects that Stevie would also go into battle for the people she cares about, given the right provocation.</p><p>“I don’t think you taught him everything, you seem much smarter than he is about some things.” Even though David and Patrick aren’t here to hear her, Stevie still rolls her eyes, her frustration palpable.</p><p>She never gets to see the version of Patrick that Stevie sees. She’s not sure she should, but she asks anyway. “Oh?”</p><p>Stevie’s voice is dry. “I’m the one they text whenever they forget to talk to each other. Like yesterday.”</p><p>“Oh?” Marcy repeats herself. She shouldn’t pry into her son’s marriage. Patrick won’t thank her if she finds out something she doesn’t need to know.</p><p>“Honestly, they’re both idiots who wouldn’t even be together if it wasn’t for me.” Stevie’s declaration makes her smile. She’s well familiar with Patrick’s ability to bury his feelings. Old habits die hard and it doesn’t surprise her that both David and Patrick confide in Stevie. Stevie finishes her last bite of the lasagna, waving away Marcy’s offer of a second helping.</p><p>“Did you get everything sorted out with the buyout agreement?” Clint tops up Stevie’s wine glass as Marcy collects the plates.</p><p>“I did. I offered Roland a lifetime of free motel stays and that did the trick. We close at the end of the month.”</p><p>“What buyout agreement is this?” Marcy hopes the business isn’t in trouble, any problems will inevitably ripple down to David and Patrick.</p><p>Stevie shakes her head and takes a sharp breath. “Uh, I’m buying out Roland’s share of the Rosebud. I’ll be the controlling owner.” She puts her cutlery down on the edge of her plate. “Mrs Brew— Marcy. You can’t tell anyone. It could damage the company if word gets out.”</p><p>Not bad news then. Years of dealing with clients of her own give her an appreciation for the sensitive nature of this agreement but surely Stevie would tell her best friends. “Do David and Patrick know?”</p><p>Stevie nods. “Yes, I told them. And David’s not thrilled about it.” She winces and takes another drink of her wine, her free hand playing with her dessert fork.</p><p>Why would David care one way or another? Unless… “You mean Johnny and Moira don’t know?” Stevie shakes her head. “Oh. Oh, Stevie.” Anyone who has spent more than two seconds with Moira has to know that this news won’t be well-received.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m really not looking forward to the day they find out.” Stevie picks up her wine glass, holding it by the stem before taking a drink. “I’m pretty sure Moira will disown me.”</p><p>“I’m sure that won’t happen.” She’s not sure of anything when it comes to the Rose family, but she needs to say the words. “Regardless of what happens, you’ll always be welcome here.” Stevie is an important part of David and Patrick’s life and that’s enough to make her family.</p><p>“Oh. That’s— that means a lot.” Stevie traces the pattern on the tablecloth as she struggles to find the words.</p><p>“Stevie. You’re the most important person in David and Patrick’s life. That makes you family.” Marcy nods firmly. There’s nothing more to say.</p><p>Across the table, Clint echoes her nod. “Now Stevie, tell me. Do you like baseball?”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Patrick stretches beneath the covers, feeling the pull of his muscles as he comes awake. He feels lighter than he has in months; he and David stayed up late talking through the possibilities for their next project. Beside him, David snores lightly, the shock of black hair all that’s visible from the top of the comforter. Lazily, he considers the options. His mind buzzes, more sleep is impossible. If he kisses David awake, the morning might unfold with kisses and cuddles and more. The memory of the slow, tender sex they’d had the night before washes through him. He leans over to check the time. 6:15. No matter how many kisses he gives him, David won’t be happy if Patrick wakes him up so early. Waffles. He’d promised David waffles yesterday.</p><p>Sitting up, he pulls on his discarded sleep pants and pads downstairs to the kitchen. He makes a pot of coffee and quickly checks his email while he waits for it. The only email he needs to respond to is a rather plaintive message from Monique, not wanting to bother him but asking where David put the broom when he used it last. He writes her back and takes his coffee out onto the deck. The lake is still and calm, in the distance a loon calls, the eerie sound echoes across the water.</p><p>He’s been carrying an unacknowledged resentment around with him for months, unwittingly worried that David would leave him behind to manage the store while he roamed further and further from home until one day he maybe didn’t want to come home at all. But now the excitement of working on a fresh project burns inside him. He curls up in one of the deck chairs, a smile creeping across his face as he finishes his coffee.</p><p>He’s mixing the waffle batter with swaying to the music as Joni Mitchell plays softly in the background when he hears David’s feet on the stairs. Moments later, David appears in the kitchen, yawning and running a hand through his hair. It doesn’t help, his curls cast in all directions as he looks at Patrick blearily.</p><p>“Coffee.” Patrick hands over a mug before David has finished the word and he gulps down half of it in one swallow. Patrick goes up on his toes to press a kiss to David’s forehead and pours the first of the waffle batter onto the iron. It sizzles as he closes the lid and sets the timer.</p><p>“Morning.” He puts his hands on David’s hips, tugging him closer until David’s arms slide around his neck.</p><p>“Hi.” David bends to kiss him and Patrick can taste coffee and the mint of his toothpaste on his breath. The kiss is soft and slow, filled with the promise of things to happen later in the day. He rolls into it, enjoying the playfulness of the back and forth, the slight chase when David pulls back by a fraction of an inch. He could do this all day. Maybe after they eat, they’ll go outside and make out on the deck. And then, after a while, David will want to eat again and then they’ll make out in the hot tub. The loud beep of the timer breaks them apart. He smooths his hands up David’s sides before freeing the waffles and plating them for David.</p><p>He puts more batter in the waffle iron and takes his own coffee to sit beside David at the table in the small breakfast nook. The table is small enough that their knees knock into each other. He reaches over to steal a strawberry from David’s plate. “What do you want to do today?”</p><p>David’s face twists and he raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think we were going anywhere.”</p><p>“We’re not.” He pops the strawberry in his mouth, his lips curving as David’s eyes follow the motion. “You gave me an idea and I want to know if you want to make out on the deck, or down by the water, or in the hot tub, or on the couch, or…”</p><p>“Easy, tiger. I’m not 35 anymore.” The interested spark in David’s eyes belies his words as he holds out his plate. “I’m going to need more waffles to build up my strength before we start on your plan.”</p><p>After breakfast they take their coffee down to the end of the dock. Instead of the usual Adirondack chairs, a wicker sofa lined with plush cushions looks out over the water. Patrick pulls David down beside him, wrapping the blanket he’d brought down from the cabin around them both.</p><p>He waits until they’re both arranged on the sofa with the blanket tucked around them. “There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about.”</p><p>David makes a face as he sips his coffee. “Hot tub sex is highly overrated.”</p><p>Patrick laughs, running his hand up David’s arm. “No. I mean, I’m willing to give it a try if you are, but this is something else.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“I want to get out of town more.” Patrick wraps his free arm around David, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “I want you to show me all the places you talk about.”</p><p>“We can do that.” David cuddles closer, tipping his head back against Patrick’s. “There’s something else I’ve been thinking about.”</p><p>“Mmm?” He smells the memory of David’s cologne, the scent of it takes him back to last night, the two of them curled together in bed, running his fingers through David’s hair in those frozen moments before tender turns to tumultuous. </p><p>David’s words snap him out of his fantasy. “I think I want to run for Town Council.” It should be a surprise, yet it’s not entirely. David has been complaining loudly about the upkeep of the town.</p><p>“Oh.” Patrick sets his empty cup down on the dock. “Are you sure? You’d have to see Roland, like, every day.”</p><p>“I know.” There’s a grimace in David’s voice, but his surety is unwavering.</p><p>“Does this mean we could get the pothole in front of the store fixed?” The pothole is a growing hazard and he’s genuinely worried that one of their customers will damage their car one day.</p><p>“I’ll do my best.”</p><p>“Then I’m in.” David cups the back of his head, drawing him in for a kiss. He breaks away, staring at Patrick in alarm. “Oh god, we’re going to have to hear all about how I’m following in my mom’s footsteps.”</p><p>Patrick’s laughter bounces off the water as he kisses the spot beneath David’s ear. “I can’t wait to hear what your mom says.”</p><p>David buries his face in Patrick’s neck, his amusement vibrates across Patrick’s skin. “You just made it worse.”</p><p>They spend the rest of the morning on the dock, cuddling beneath the blanket until the sun gets bright and hot and the heat of the day starts to build. Patrick stands up and pulls off his t-shirt and the sweatpants he’d pulled on over his swim trunks. “I’m going for a swim.”</p><p>“In the lake? There’s probably bugs and frogs and things in there.” David makes a face and clutches the blanket.</p><p>“Or there might be sea serpents. Kraken. Ogopogos.” He slips his fingers under the hem of David’s sweater, tickling him until he squirms and laughs.</p><p>“C’mon David, it will be fun.” It takes some cajoling and the promise of afternoon waffles but eventually David reluctantly agrees to sit on the end of the dock with his toes in the water. Leaving David with custody of the towels, Patrick dives off the dock, the cool water hits him with a shock, but his body quickly adjusts once he’s fully submerged. He swims out from the dock, his body adjusting to the motion of being in the water. Coming back up, he sluices the water out of his eyes and swims back to where David sits at the end of the pier. “You should come in.”</p><p>David makes a face and shakes his head. Patrick swims close enough to wrap his hands around David’s ankles, goosebumps follow the path of his cold wet hands. “You won’t pull me in, will you?”</p><p>“Not if you don’t want me to.” He presses a kiss to David’s knee and pushes off, launching himself backwards away from the dock. The backstroke has never been his strongest and his frantic splashing makes David squeal as the cold droplets hit him.</p><p>“Fine. Since you’re getting me wet, anyway.” David stands up and pulls off his sweater and sleep pants revealing his black and white Tom Ford swim trunks. The long lines of his husband’s form silhouetted against the bright blue sky takes Patrick’s breath away. David launches himself from the dock in a perfect dive, surfacing in front of Patrick. He closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms around David’s neck. The warmth of David’s body is even more pronounced in the chilly water and David’s legs wrap around his waist as they bob together.</p><p>He strokes his hands down David’s back, chasing the play of his muscles and the tautness of his skin beneath his hands. His hands drift lower, David inhales sharply as he grasps his ass and pulls them together.</p><p>“How did I get so lucky?” David rolls his eyes, hiding his smile in his cheek. He’d rather tease than indulge his husband’s love of compliments, but they are on vacation. “Look at you.” He kisses the freckles on David’s shoulders, dragging his tongue across David’s wet skin from one to the next. “Every inch of you makes me want more.” David throws his head back and Patrick bites at the base of his exposed throat. David’s gasp ricochets between them and he tightens his grip on Patrick’s shoulders.</p><p>He pulls a hand free and combs the hair out of David’s eyes. David’s legs wrap more firmly around him and his hands catch at the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s wet and sloppy and uncoordinated as Patrick tries to keep them moving underwater and kiss David at the same time. He lets David lead, both of them chasing the heat that had been simmering since that morning. Despite the cold water, his body reacts to the weight of David’s body in his arms, the press of his mouth.</p><p>He pushes them back towards the dock, urgently wanting more but not willing to break away from David’s kisses. He follows David up the wooden ladder, pushing him down on the outdoor sofa and kneeling between his splayed legs. The sun is hot on his back, he can feel the water drying on his skin even as he tugs David’s swim shorts down and out of the way. David’s hands tangle in his hair, guiding him even as he takes David deep into his mouth.</p><p>It’s over for both of them far too quickly, his mouth on David and his hand beneath the band of his swim trunks. With a strangled moan, he lays his head against David’s thigh as David pets at his hair. He’s too warm, the sun warming him from the outside as the after effects of his orgasm heats him up from the inside. The boards of the deck dig into his knees, reminding him he’s not as young as he used to be.</p><p>“We’re both pretty lucky.” David’s voice is faint and when Patrick looks up at him, his eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the sofa.</p><p>He plants a kiss on the exposed underside of David’s thigh. “Yeah, we are.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>David pulls Patrick up onto the outdoor sofa beside him. It’s easily wide and long enough to accommodate two grown men. They should get something like this for their back porch. He loves their swing, but sometimes it’s nice to stretch out. </p><p>Patrick arranges himself in front of him and David slips an arm around his chest. His bare skin is warm from the sun. Maybe too warm. David fumbles in the pocket of his pants, folded over the back of the couch and pulls out the tube of sunscreen he’d brought from the cabin. Squirting a generous dollop into his palm, he smooths it over Patrick’s arm and slowly across his chest, making sure to cover every inch of his pale skin.</p><p>“Mmm.” Patrick sighs and shifts beneath him, rolling towards him to give better access. “What would I do without you?”</p><p>“Burn to a crisp and do irreparable damage to your skin, no doubt.” He rubs a small dab of sunscreen along the shell of Patrick’s ear. Eyes closed, his husband tilts his head like a cat and David strokes more sunscreen along his cheeks and across his forehead. With a last glob of the sunscreen, he runs a rough hand down the back of Patrick’s neck, following it up with a soft kiss to the edge of Patrick’s hairline.</p><p>“Where do you want to go?” David places his hand over Patrick’s chest and snuggles into him. Patrick tangles their fingers together and brings their clasped hands up to his lips.</p><p>“What, now?” Patrick’s eyes are still closed, the sweat of his back is sticky between them. It should be gross, but having Patrick pressed against him is good under any circumstances.</p><p>“No, not now.” His right hand is tucked under his head, but he can just reach Patrick’s curls. He tugs one in retribution. “If— when— we travel somewhere, where do you want to go?”</p><p>“Where do you want to take me?” Patrick’s voice is softer now, the warm of the sun relaxes David’s muscles, his body is loose and languid. </p><p>“That’s not fair, I asked you first.” He doesn’t want Patrick to simply follow his lead because he has more experience. And honestly, not all of his experiences were good ones, but they’d be better with Patrick.</p><p>“I’d like to see the ocean. And the mountains.” Patrick is slipping towards sleep, his breathing evening out beneath David’s hand. </p><p>“I want to show you all those things.” David whispers the words in Patrick’s ear, even though his husband is asleep. “I want to show you everything.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>Clint clips the end of Mariah’s lead to her collar and heads down the street to Ray’s. The little dog trots happily in front of him, sniffing every shrub and bunch of grass like it might be her last. Ray is just gathering up his things when Clint arrives and he sighs with relief at the thought of having the office to himself.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind about the dog, David and Patrick are away for a few days.” As though she knows they’re talking about her, Mariah bounds to the end of her leash before sitting in front of Ray so he can scratch her ears.</p><p>“Not at all.” As always, no matter the topic, Ray beams at him. “I would have a dog of my own, but I don’t have time. How wonderful that your days are so open.”</p><p>“Mmm hmm.” He unclips Mariah’s lead and she flops down beneath his desk. “Where are you off to today?”</p><p>“Well, I’m off to retrace the route for my exclusive Moira Rose Tour of Schitt’s Creek.” Ray picks up his camera and a notebook. “Now that it will be part of the fan convention I need to make sure it’s perfect.”</p><p>“Of course.” Naturally, Ray would be all over the opportunities presented by the convention. “Wait a minute. Did you say <em>retrace</em>?”</p><p>“Oh yes, my Moira Rose tour has been one of my best selling tour offerings. I don’t want to say that I’m responsible for bringing the convention to Schitt’s Creek, but it definitely helped.” With that, Ray waves at him happily and shuts the door behind him. There’s no way that David knows that Ray is using Moira’s name to promote Schitt’s Creek. Clint chews on his lip. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. Well, David’s bound to find out eventually, it’s not like Ray is keeping it a secret.</p><p>Leaving that problem for another day, he works on Jocelyn’s licensing problem, drafting a letter that will hopefully get some results. He’s reading it over one last time when Roland comes in, leaving the door open behind him.</p><p>“Clint. I’m glad I caught you.” Roland hikes one leg up on the corner of his desk, perching unevenly beside Clint’s laptop. Clint leans back in his chair, resisting the urge to stand and put himself at eye level with Roland. </p><p>“Okay?” He hopes Roland isn’t here because he’s accidentally dug a hole in his lawn, or created a black hole in the backyard.</p><p>“Listen, there’s a problem with those photos that Ray took for us last week.” Roland pulls out his phone and starts flipping through it. Whatever photos Ray might have taken for Roland, Clint doesn’t want to see them.</p><p>He does his best to cut Roland off. “Well, you’re going to have to talk to Ray about that.”</p><p>“Yeah, you see, Joc looks great, but I just don’t think you caught my good side, you know?” Roland tilts the left side of his face to the light and then the right side. “See, I just think this side is better.”</p><p>“Roland, you’ll have to talk to Ray.” Talking to Roland is like playing a game of telephone, anything he says is the opposite of what Roland hears.</p><p>“So I thought we could shift things around so you took the photos from the other side of the bed and try again.”</p><p>Clint swallows his shudder at that image. “Roland. I don’t work for Ray, I’m just renting a desk.”</p><p>“We could go over there right now and I could show you what I have in mind.” Roland nods seriously and leans across the desk to clap him on the shoulder.</p><p>Roland is unable or unwilling to believe that Clint can’t solve his problem. He scrambles for an acceptable excuse. “I can’t do that, Ray took the camera.”</p><p>“Oh.” Roland’s face falls at this turn of events. He slides off Clint’s desk and heads for the door.</p><p>“I’ll get Ray to call you.” He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a pad of sticky notes, jotting a note.</p><p>“Okay, fine. It seems bad for business if you can’t come right away. Especially when you’re not busy.” Roland shakes his head in disappointment at Clint’s unwillingness to take his photos.</p><p>He walks Roland out, stopping just short of pushing him out the door. He reads the letter again. Deciding it’s good enough, he emails it to Jocelyn. He picks up Mariah’s leash but the spot beneath the desk is empty. The dog is gone. A shard of icy fear slides down his spine.</p><p>“Mariah?” There’s no answering ‘woof’ or jingle of tags.</p><p>“Mariah?” He calls her name as he searches through Ray’s house, poking into corners and peering beneath the furniture like a nosy burglar. </p><p>“Mariah?!” He listens closely, hoping to hear the patter of tiny feet but there’s nothing.</p><p>His mind flashes back to his conversation with Roland and how Roland had left the front door open. Shit. Heart in his throat, he dashes to the front walk, his head swiveling back and forth searching up and down the street, hoping to see a wagging white tail and not a crumpled form on the side of the road. There’s neither.</p><p>Frantically, he texts Marcy.</p><p><strong>Clint:</strong> I lost the dog<br/>
<strong>Marcy:</strong> What?<br/>
<strong>Clint:</strong> Roland left the door open at Ray’s and now she’s gone<br/>
<strong>Marcy:</strong> Okay, hang on, I’ll come help you look</p><p>A few minutes later Marcy hurries down the street towards him. Before he can say anything, she hugs him, holding him tightly for a few extra seconds. “We’ll find her, it will be fine. She can’t have gotten far, her legs are only eight inches long.”</p><p>They split up and head in opposite directions up the street, calling and whistling. He gets his hopes up at one house when a small white form bounds towards him, but the dog is too big and too loud to be Mariah.</p><p>He gets to the end of the street. He stops beneath the stop sign and looking up and down the highway, praying she hasn’t made it this far but there’s no sign of her. Glumly, he walks back to Ray’s. He’s halfway there when a black pick-up truck pulls up beside him. The window rolls down and a furry white face grins out at him.</p><p>“Did you lose something?” Ronnie peers at him from the driver’s seat, her face expressionless. The critical look in her eyes cuts through him, even worse than outright judgement would be.</p><p>“Oh god, I can’t believe you found her.” He reaches through the window, scooping Mariah into his arms as she wiggles happily and licks his face. Holding her squirming body firmly, he loops his fingers through her collar.</p><p>“You should be more careful. Looking after a dog is a big responsibility.” The weight of Ronnie’s judgement makes him certain that he’ll never laugh at Patrick’s conflict with her ever again. If Patrick’s experience is anything to go by, Ronnie will never let him forget this.</p><p>“I can’t thank you enough.” He will owe Ronnie for the rest of his life. She’ll be calling him up twenty years from now asking for favors and he won’t say no.</p><p>“No. You can’t.” With that, Ronnie puts the truck in gear and drives away before he can explain himself. Not that he has much of an explanation to offer.</p><p>He scratches Mariah’s ears, making sure he has a firm grip on her collar as he heads for Ray’s. “One thing’s for sure. We’re never telling David and Patrick about this.”</p><p>💙🖤💙</p><p>The sun has long since set when David slips into the hot tub beside Patrick, handing over the last of Patrick’s beer and setting his own glass of wine on the edge of the tub. He’s kiboshed hot tub sex as being too wet without being slippery enough, plus he doesn’t feel like nearly drowning tonight. Still, Patrick had persuaded him that even if sex wasn’t immediately on the table, that naked hot tubbing was the next best thing.</p><p>“Hi, I missed you.” Patrick rolls his head along the padded edge of the tub, placing a kiss on the corner of David’s mouth. Patrick’s drunk, they both are, probably, but Patrick’s at that happy, handsy stage that David definitely appreciates. A hand slides up his thigh, his hips flinch involuntarily.</p><p>“Hi.” He kisses Patrick back, he’s not as drunk as Patrick, his aim is better than his husband’s and he lands the kiss on Patrick’s lips on the first try, making them both giggle. Kissing Patrick is always good, so he does it again, catching the corner of his mouth this time. Patrick’s cheek is wet beneath his lips, he lingers for a moment, relishing the promise of the sharp prickle of stubble against his sensitive skin.</p><p>“Look.” Patrick waves at the sky. “Look at all the stars.” The Milky Way stretches above them, a blanket of light stretches across the horizon.</p><p>He’d always thought the photos of the Milky Way were fake, enhanced photoshopped versions of the night sky didn’t exist in real life. The first time he’d seen the stars in Schitt’s Creek, he’d stopped dead in the middle of the street, staring upwards at the curtain of stars that filled the night sky. “It’s beautiful.” He tips his head back, taking in the swath of stars.</p><p>Patrick’s legs float off the bottom of the tub and tangle with David’s in the pulsing bubbles. “There’s Orion.” Patrick points wildly at the inky blackness of the sky. Patrick giggles again and he tugs David off the wall until he’s floating in front of him, wrapping his arms around his chest. “That’s the only one I know.”</p><p>David floats free and weightless in the bubbles, buoyed by the power of the hot tub jets. Surely one day he’ll hit a plateau and his love for Patrick will peak, but it just grows, day by day. He sighs contentedly and tries to float closer but the water separates them until they’re only anchored by the circle of Patrick’s arms, his head lolling against Patrick’s shoulder. Beneath the water, he runs his hands down Patrick’s thighs, feeling the muscles shift under his fingers.</p><p>“I don’t want to leave, but I can’t wait to go home and get started on the next phase of the store.” After talking it through all weekend they’d decided to start on two new projects: franchising Rose Apothecary and developing a sister store that will sell larger pieces of handmade artwork and furniture. He’s excited to begin on both of them and Patrick is as well, there’s been a spark in his husband’s eyes all weekend that David hadn’t even realized was missing until it was reignited.</p><p>“Me too.” Patrick nuzzles at his ear, but it’s gentle, without intent. His arms tighten around David. “There’s just one thing. When we get back, we’re putting another weekend away in the calendar.”</p><p>“You’ve got a deal.” He tangles his fingers with Patrick’s as they bob in the pulsating water. “Next weekend works for me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Candidate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<p>David sips his coffee as Patrick sorts through their mail. They should be in bed. It’s eight in the morning and Monique is covering the store until noon and they should be cuddled together, savoring the last few hours of their vacation instead of sitting in the kitchen at an ungodly hour playing with the mail. “What are you doing? There’s never anything good, anyway.” He’d checked the tracking on his eBay bids as soon as they’d come home (he’s not a monster) and neither are scheduled to arrive until the end of the week.</p>
<p>Patrick sorts two bank statements into the pile in front of him. “That’s not true, look, my subscription to Small Business Monthly is here.” Patrick holds up a glossy magazine, on the front cover, a man in a golf shirt stands in front of a whiteboard covered in flowcharts. <strong>5 Steps to Online Success</strong> screams the headline.</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.” David takes another drink of his coffee. “Is the first step buying their magazine?”</p>
<p>“Nominations for Council open today.” Patrick sets aside the junk mail for recycling. “I have to drop off our business license renewal at Town Hall. Do you want me to get you a nomination form?”</p>
<p>“I—” The minute he signs that form, it will be real, cementing his place in this town in a way that nothing else has. Even the bricks and mortar of their business seem more portable, more easily mobile than this does. But he wants it. As though the town has become an extension of Rose Apothecary, an extension of his life with Patrick. And he brings something to the town that no one else here has. He nods at Patrick. “Yeah. Yes.” He puts all his confidence behind his answer. “Are you going to be the first one to sign my nomination papers?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I might have to see who the other candidates are.” Patrick smirks at him and goes back to sorting the mail as David rolls his eyes. “Oh, this is for you.” Patrick slides a padded envelope across the counter to him. Mariah barks and Patrick opens the door to let her in, scratching her ears for a moment before she wiggles out of his grasp to get a drink of water.</p>
<p>David picks up the envelope, the return address is from Toronto, but that doesn’t tell him anything about what might be inside. “I didn’t order anything.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “I mean, I ordered some things, but they won’t arrive until Friday.” He squeezes the envelope, the soft material inside squishes beneath his fingers. Tearing it open, he shakes the envelope until a black t-shirt slides out onto the counter. He shakes the envelope, but there’s nothing else inside.</p>
<p>“Were you drunk shopping on Etsy again?”</p>
<p>“No.” Was he? No, he’s pretty sure. “If I was, you should have stopped me.” He unfolds the shirt. Emblazoned on the front is the Sunrise Bay logo and the words:</p>
<p>
  <strong> Always be yourself. Unless you can be Moira Rose. Then always be Moira Rose.</strong>
</p>
<p>“Oh, my god. Is this some sick joke?” He holds up the shirt, Patrick snorts as soon as he sees it. “You did this, didn’t you?” Leave it to his troll of a husband to remind him that their perfect weekend is over. </p>
<p>Patrick starts to laugh, bending over against the counter, making strangled wheezing noises as he tries to breathe. “I wish I’d thought of it, but it wasn’t me.” He wipes his eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling. “I think it’s funny.”</p>
<p>David scowls at him, hands on his hips as he waits for Patrick to pull himself together. “Of course you do. Who would send me such a thing?” He tosses the shirt on the counter in disgust, but the words <em>...always be Moria Rose…</em> continue to taunt him.</p>
<p>Patrick’s mouth twitches. He pulls the shirt towards him as if the offensive lettering isn’t visible from across the room. Or across the galaxy. “Oh.” Realization washes across Patrick’s face. “Oh, I might know…” Patrick pulls out his phone and sends a text to someone. “If you’re not going to wear it, can I have it?”</p>
<p>“No, you can’t have it. I’m not going to be seen in public with my husband wearing this abomination.” David pushes at the shirt with the tips of his fingers.</p>
<p>Patrick pouts at him and his phone buzzes on the counter. He picks it up and chuckles again before showing David the text.</p>
<p><strong>Mom:</strong> Did David not like the shirt I bought him?</p>
<p>“I take back all the lovely things I’ve said about your mom. She’s a troll, just like you.” He stuffs the shirt back in the envelope as Patrick’s phone buzzes again.</p>
<p><strong>Mom:</strong> I thought he could wear it when the Sunrise Bay fan convention comes to town.</p>
<p>“What? What fan convention?” Patrick shakes his head as he takes his phone back to text his mom again. The shirt is bad enough but the idea of throngs of people gawking at the town and speculating about his mom is too much to contemplate. He pokes at the envelope. Every one of them will probably wear a shirt like this. It’s intolerable. Oh god, some of them will probably dress like his mom. As if luxury fashion can be replicated as though it were a cheap Halloween costume. </p>
<p>Patrick’s phone buzzes again. “Mom says the convention is coming to Elmdale next month. Ray and Jocelyn are organizing it?” There’s no one in this town with the good taste to organize an event like this properly, but there’s more than ample evidence of Ray and Jocelyn’s tacky lack of style. Does his mom know that this is happening? She won’t want people to see the town where she was forced to live. If he and Patrick hadn’t decided to stay behind his mom likely would have excised all memories of the town.</p>
<p>“Oh, god.” He covers his face with his hands. The town will be crawling with people looking for souvenirs with pictures of his mom’s face on them. Twyla will probably name a hamburger or a fruit cup after her. Or a smoothie: Sunrise Bay Surprise. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to find a text from his sister. He opens a screenshot of the convention poster, his mom’s name is emblazoned in bright yellow letters across the top.</p>
<p><strong>Alexis:</strong> Looks like mom’s coming to visit you!</p>
<p>“If I get elected, I’m going to put a stop to this.” He shakes his phone at Patrick as if it might make the fan convention disappear</p>
<p>“You might be overestimating what you can accomplish one week after the election.” Patrick gathers together the small pile of bills and bank statements to take into his office.</p>
<p>“This town deserves a higher calibre of event. One that isn’t all about my mom.” Any event would be better than this. And that includes the recurring nightmare that is Ray’s Ham and Clam Bake.</p>
<p>“I know, baby.” Patrick comes around the island, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But think of the creative vision you’ll bring to filling potholes and repairing sidewalks.” Patrick kisses him, quick and sloppy, before he heads back upstairs. David opens the file from his sister again, reading the poster in disbelief. This can’t be happening. A fan convention and a visit from his mom? In the same week? The last of his good mood falls away. </p>
<p>“I can’t believe this is happening.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick pulls open the door to Town Hall, crossing his fingers that either Roland or Bob or the new guy, (Brian? Bruce? Whatever.) will be inside. His hopes are dashed immediately. Ronnie is alone, her feet up on her desk as she scrolls through her phone.</p>
<p>“Patrick. I always look forward to experiencing your company.” Ronnie doesn’t bother to make eye contact and she doesn’t move her feet off of her desk.</p>
<p>“Ronnie. I brought our business license renewal.” He holds out the form, neatly completed in block lettering since the Town of Schitt’s Creek still only accepts hard copies.  </p>
<p>“Put it in there.” Ronnie nods towards a wire basket on the corner of her desk. “I’ll get to it when I get to it.”</p>
<p>Ronnie cares too much about David to deliberately delay anything that’s important to the store, but his frustration at her dismissive attitude rises to the surface. “Couldn’t you get to it now?” The words die on his lips as Ronnie looks up at him.</p>
<p>“No. I’m busy.” As always, her gaze prompts a visceral reaction. He backs down before he makes things worse.</p>
<p>“Fine. I’ll, um, just wait for the mail, then.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like a kid in the principal’s office.</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. Guess you better.” Ronnie goes back to her phone. From her frantic tapping, he’s pretty sure she’s playing a video game. “Was there something else?”</p>
<p>“Uh. I wanted to get a nomination form? For the by-election?” His voice squeaks on the last word and he cringes to himself.</p>
<p>Ronnie’s head snaps up so quickly he’s afraid she might injure herself. “You? Want a nomination form?” For maybe the first time since he’s known her, she’s genuinely taken aback. “Ha.” She digs in a drawer, coming up with a legal-sized document printed on yellowing paper. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the first signature for free.” Ronnie scrawls her name across the form and passes it to him.</p>
<p>“I’m not—”</p>
<p>“Anything else?” Ronnie cuts him off before he can object that the form is for David. Well, Ronnie likes David, she’d probably be happy to sign his form.  </p>
<p>He walks back to the store, cranky and off-balance after the conversation with Ronnie. A cup of tea will help. He detours across the street to the cafe, putting the form down on the counter while he waits for Twyla to take his order.</p>
<p>“Is that a nomination form for Town Council?” Twyla sets his tea and the bag with David’s muffin down in front of him. “You know, I was thinking of running. Wouldn’t it be great to have two young people on Council?” Do David or Twyla qualify as young? He supposes they’re younger than Roland and Ronnie. “Let me give you a signature for that.”</p>
<p>A protest forms on his lips, but it’s too late, she whips out her pen and neatly signs her name below Ronnie’s. She hands it back to him and picks up an order from the counter.</p>
<p>“Patrick!” Ray comes up behind him, Gwen following on his heels. “Gwen and I were just about to review some real estate options when I thought I heard the telltale crinkle of a Town Council nomination form. It is such an honor to know you’re following in my footsteps.”</p>
<p>“That’s not—” Before he finishes the sentence, Ray has signed the form with a flourish, passing it to Gwen who does the same. “I—” Ray and Gwen leave before he tells them that David is the one running for Council.</p>
<p>With a grimace at Twyla, he gathers up his tea and the form and the bag with the muffin and walks over to the store. Mariah greets him at the door, her tail wagging. “Sorry, I don’t have any treats. Go ask David.” The dog trots away, throwing herself down on her bed just inside the back room with a huff.</p>
<p>“It looks like you have treats for me, though.” From behind the counter David makes grabby hands for the bag. He has two jars of product in front of him and Patrick recognizes them as the ones Natalie and Louisa had dropped off a couple of weeks ago. David opens the bag and shoves a bit of muffin in his mouth before Patrick kisses him hello. “These are fantastic.” David mumbles the words through a mouthful of muffin.</p>
<p>“It’s just the same as yesterday.” David’s enthusiasm for snacks never wanes, but he’s usually not so excited about Twyla’s baking.</p>
<p>David swallows. “Not the muffin. These products. We should carry them.” He picks up one jar and sniffs it. The fresh herbal scent is just as captivating as when Natalie had brought them into the store.</p>
<p>“I think so too. But Natalie wants full distribution right off the bat. The store, the Rosebud, everything. And she wants equal marketing instead of being under our brand.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” David picks up the other jar and sniffs it, closing his eyes to take in the scent. To anyone else, it would look like David is lost in the fragrance, but he’s thinking things through, analyzing how the product fits with the store. Few people know this side of David Rose exists. And even though David rejects his spreadsheets in favor of mood boards, there’s a calculating mind hidden beneath his showy exterior that Patrick loves more than anything. While David is distracted, he reaches for the bag with the muffin, only to have David smack his hand away. At last, David puts down the jar. “We can work with that.” Patrick frowns at him, unsure where this change of heart about their business practices is coming from. David shrugs, screwing on the lid. “If we’re going to expand, we’re going to need suppliers who can do large volumes.” He grimaces. “We might have to compromise.”</p>
<p>“Well, let’s not get carried away.” With his index finger, he nudges the lip balms in front of the cash register back into alignment as David huffs at him. “I brought you something else.” He passes over the form, pulling a pen out of the pencil holder beside the register and signing his name beneath the other signatures.</p>
<p>David picks up the form and scrutinizes it “Where did all these signatures come from? And who the fuck is Gwen?”</p>
<p>“People are just really excited.” He reaches for David’s muffin again and this time David doesn’t knock his hand away. “There may have been a small misunderstanding and people might have leapt to some conclusions. But now you just need to hand it in.”</p>
<p>David narrows his eyes, a piece of muffin part way to his mouth. “I don’t need you to do this for me.”</p>
<p>“I know. That wasn’t— that wasn’t how it happened.” He’s now entirely sure how it happened exactly. He winces to himself, he should have stopped Ronnie and Twyla and Ray and Gwen from signing David’s form.</p>
<p>“Okay.” David reads the form again. “Am I really doing this?” Excitement buzzes beneath the nervous energy in his voice.</p>
<p>Patrick squeezes his arm. “Only if you want to.”</p>
<p>“I—” David puts down the form. “I never lived anywhere long enough to really care about it, you know? But this town feels like home. I can make it better. And not just aesthetically. Even though, aesthetically, this town needs a lot of help.”</p>
<p>“I know you can.” Patrick takes a drink of his tea. “But if you’re taking requests, I might have a list. There’s the pothole in front of the store. And the one on Main Street by Ray’s. And the one across from Town Hall. And the one…”</p>
<p>“Okay. You can file a formal request just like everyone else.” David’s hands smooth out the paper on the counter, his face twisting in mock annoyance.</p>
<p>“I just thought there might be some perks to sleeping with one of the councillors.”</p>
<p>David gives him a long look before picking up the pen from the counter and signing his name at the bottom. “Here’s to the next chapter of our lives.”</p>
<p>Patrick tries to contain his smile, but it spills across his face. “To the next chapter.” He kisses David on the cheek, taking his tea upstairs, Mariah at his heels.</p>
<p>He’s halfway through the monthly income statement for the store, chewing his lip, trying to figure out why their shipping costs are lower than they should be when his phone buzzes. Eager for a break, he accepts the FaceTime call.</p>
<p>“Patrick. How was your weekend away?” Rachel eyes him through the small screen. “You look relaxed, Did you and David finally have a conversation?” Her tone is not dissimilar to Stevie’s. Not for the first time, he’s glad to have a thousand kilometers of separation between the two of them.</p>
<p>“It was great. And we may have talked about some things.” His mind fills with memories of cuddling with David on the deck. And more. Definitely not things he should think about while talking to his ex-fiancee. Or one of his best friends.  </p>
<p>“It’s about time.” Rachel rolls her eyes at him. Behind her, Gabe smashes his fists happily on the tray of his high chair. “Are you going to give me the details or do I have to pry them out of you?”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” He hums at her in mock annoyance. He’s definitely not going to share those details about their time away. Rachel arches an eyebrow at his hesitation and he flushes. She knows him better than almost anyone and sometimes it shows. “We’re going to expand the store. And David just signed his papers to run for Town Council.”</p>
<p>It’s the first time he’s said either of those things out loud to anyone other than David. It’s exciting and just a little scary. The challenge hums beneath his skin in a way that he hasn't felt in far too long.</p>
<p>“Council? How do you feel about that?” Behind her, Gabe throws his toy to the ground and squeals with delight.</p>
<p>“Everyone will underestimate him and he’ll be very good at it.” He sidesteps her question, hoping she won’t notice.</p>
<p>It doesn’t work. Her eyes narrow and she asks again. “I don’t disagree, but how do you feel about it, Patrick?”</p>
<p>“I want this for him. But…” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “But I’m a bit jealous.” Rachel smiles at him sympathetically. “Not in a bad way, I just—“ He stops short, unsure how to explain.</p>
<p>“You like competitions and filling out paperwork.” He wants to protest, but she’s not wrong.</p>
<p>He laughs. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. David’s vision is better than mine, he’ll get some bigger things done for the town.” Gabe lets out a raucous shriek, tears are imminent. “I should let you go. Thanks Rach.”</p>
<p>“Any time, you know that.” Patrick ends the call, staring into space for a long moment after Rachel has hung up. He doesn’t want to be on Council, not really. But he’s glad Rachel made him say it out loud. Shaking his head, he goes back to his spreadsheet, determined to find the missing shipping costs.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The completed nomination form stares at David. All he has to do is hand it in at Town Hall and he’ll officially be a candidate for Town Council. He reads the names again. Ronnie. Twyla. Ray. Gwen. Patrick. He’s trying to puzzle out how Patrick got Ronnie to sign for him when his phone buzzes with a text from Stevie.</p>
<p><strong>Stevie: </strong>The deal is done, I’m going to tell your dad at 10:00</p>
<p>A ball of dread forms in his stomach. He checks the time. It’s 9:45.</p>
<p>Patrick’s laughter trickles down the stairs. He only laughs that way with their closest friends and since Stevie’s meeting with his dad, Patrick must be talking to Rachel. He wants to interrupt, to demand that Patrick pay attention to his anxieties about what’s about to happen. Instead, he paces the floor of the store, marching back and forth in front of the hand soap until a group of customers come in and he’s forced to stop.</p>
<p>The women linger, browsing and chatting. David forces himself to be polite, to ask if they need help, to provide information about fragrances and skin care regimes, even as he listens for the telltale sound of his phone, signalling that Stevie’s meeting with his dad is finished. By the time the customers leave, he’s ready to crawl out of his skin. There’s silence from upstairs; he needs Patrick.</p>
<p><strong>David: </strong>Can you come down here?</p>
<p>Patrick’s footsteps thump down the stairs and moments later he appears in the doorway. “What’s up?”</p>
<p>“Stevie’s talking to my dad.” He wrings his hands in the air, hoping to burn off some of his nervous energy. It doesn’t work.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Patrick’s face softens and quickly crosses to the counter, pulling David into a fierce hug. “It’ll be okay.” He holds David tightly and he buries his face in Patrick’s neck, breathing in the unique scent that’s wholly Patrick. Citrus. Sunshine. The tension leaves his shoulders and his phone buzzes on the counter, his stomach knots in trepidation. Before he picks it up, it buzzes again. And again. And again. “Well, it looks like they know.” Patrick squeezes his shoulder as he picks it up.</p>
<p><strong>Dad: </strong>Give me a call? We need to talk.<br/><strong>Mom: </strong>Stevie has betrayed us, she is going to bring us to the threshold of dilapidation!<br/><strong>Alexis: </strong>What is going on? Mom just texted me nine times.<br/><strong>Stevie: </strong>I’m sorry</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be the one to smooth things over for everyone.” Patrick hates it when David’s family is unreasonable, as if that isn’t their continuous state of being. </p>
<p>“You don’t understand.” He tips his head to the ceiling, losing himself in the feel of Patrick’s hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I know.” Patrick rubs his shoulder again, his eyes are sad. “What can I do?”</p>
<p>He leans against Patrick for a second, wanting to ask him to text everyone back, to field all the calls. Patrick’s hand rubs the tense muscles at the base of his neck. He rolls his shoulders, chasing his touch. “This.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick’s lips press against his shoulder. “I’ll be here if you need me.” David nods and climbs the stairs, taking deep breaths to prepare himself like he’s scaling Mt. Everest. He calls Alexis first, she’s the most likely to take his side. Assuming he has a side that isn’t just the unmoored wasteland between his parents and Stevie. She connects to FaceTime right away.</p>
<p>“David, what is going on? Mom sent me, like, ten messages about how Stevie is the Brutus to her Caesar.” Alexis taps her fingers on the table, making the phone shake.</p>
<p>“Stevie bought out Roland’s share of the Rosebud.” The twisty feeling in his stomach gets worse. He should have stayed downstairs with Patrick to make these calls.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Alexis sounds confused, “Isn’t buying out Roland a good thing?”</p>
<p>“She controls the company now. Dad didn’t know.” The words hang in the air. They buzz from cell tower to cell tower between here and New York, becoming heavier and heavier as they go.</p>
<p>“And you knew about this?” Alexis’s voice gets higher as the significance of what he’s saying sinks in.</p>
<p>“How did you— I didn’t tell you that!” His sister is high heels and hair feathers coated in gold leaf and disguising a sharpness he often regrets.</p>
<p>“It’s obvious, David. You’re the only one who hasn’t texted me this morning.”</p>
<p>“Fine. Stevie told me last month. It doesn’t change anything, it just means she gets to make all the decisions.” </p>
<p>“Ugh and you just let her do this?” Alexis’s voice ticks up a register. There’s no chance his parents won’t overreact to this news.</p>
<p>“She’s my friend, I don’t control what she does.” David paces around the office space. One, two, three, four, five steps to the door. One, two, three, four, five steps back. He comes to a halt in front of the sofa and sinks onto it. Mariah jumps up beside him and rests her head on his knee. He strokes her ears, relishing the soothing feel of her silky fur. “Have you talked to dad? Or, uh, to mom?”</p>
<p>“Not yet.” Talking to Alexis makes him feel better, but the writhing in his stomach increases when he thinks about what he has to do next.</p>
<p>The words hang between them for a moment before he makes a suggestion he would never have made five years, or even two years before. “Divide and conquer?”</p>
<p>Alexis huffs a laugh at him. “Fine. But I’m taking dad.”</p>
<p>Despite his mom’s likely histrionics, that’s his preference anyway, so he nods at her. Ending the call, he leans his head back against the sofa, scratching Mariah’s ears. He’s well beyond second thoughts, but before he has fourth or fifth thoughts, he opens his phone and calls his mom.</p>
<p>“David. Stevie has betrayed us all. Like Fredo betrayed Michael in The Godfather. Like Cleopatra betrayed Mark Antony in Cleopatra. Like Gertrude betrayed Hamlet in Hamlet. Like Judas betrayed Jesus in—” His mom’s voice gets higher with each betrayal. He cuts her off before she starts on Vivian Blake’s many enemies.</p>
<p>“Okay, don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away?” It’s probably the wrong thing to say, but what is the right thing when your mother thinks your best friend is a traitor?</p>
<p>“David, you know her best. Is Stevie feeling spiteful because we failed to emancipate her from that podunk backwater?”</p>
<p>He needs to defend the town. “That podunk backwater is where I live.”</p>
<p>“Did you put her up to this? Are the two of you colluding against us out of a hidden need for retribution?”</p>
<p>“What could either of us possibly want retribution for? You know what, never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t want to hear whatever tortured logic brought his mom to that conclusion.</p>
<p>“David, your father is devastated. You must come to LA immediately.” The pull of her words hits him like a magnet, drawing him towards her with the vain hope that he might make things better. He should go to LA. He’ll talk to his parents, ease the blow of Stevie’s news. He sits at Patrick’s laptop and searches for flights. He’ll fly out first thing tomorrow and— he brings himself up short. Patrick won’t stop him from going but he won’t be happy about it. And...if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to go.</p>
<p>“I can’t come to LA right now.” He’s never liked LA. His memories are warped by the heat and the hangers-on, the way everyone took and never gave him anything in return.</p>
<p>“David. What could possibly be more important?”</p>
<p>Fuck. He closes his eyes. This wasn’t how he wanted this announcement to go. But when has announcing something to his family ever gone to plan. “If you must know, I’m running for Town Council.”</p>
<p>“This is no time to indulge in emulation. Normally, I appreciate you following in my footsteps, but surely your aptitude has more value when applied elsewhere.”</p>
<p>Ignoring his mom’s accusation of impersonation, he tries to focus on the matter at hand. “Even if I did come, what would you want me to do?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know David, surely you must be able to dissuade Stevie from the calamitous course of action.”</p>
<p>“I tried weeks ago and nothing worked.” There’s an interminable pause and he sends a prayer out into the universe to have his words vaporize into the ether before they make it to his mom’s ears. Fuck.</p>
<p>“You knew about this.” The hysteria leaves his mom’s voice, leaving behind an angry flatness. </p>
<p>“Stevie asked me not to say anything.” He picks at his cuticle, ruining the careful maintenance he’d done on his nails that morning.</p>
<p>“Your loyalty to your compatriot is admirable, if only you demonstrated a similar constancy to your family.” Abruptly, his mom ends the call.</p>
<p>“That went well.” Mariah nudges his hand with her nose and he scratches her ears again. He tips his head back and stares at the white-painted pattern of the original pressed tin ceiling. His mom will get over it. Going to LA won’t help anything and there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. Moments later, Patrick appears in the doorway with a to go cup and a paper bag in his hands. He sets them on the coffee table.</p>
<p>“I thought you might need a treat.” Patrick’s eyebrows crease together when he doesn’t reach for the bag right away.</p>
<p>“Did you spontaneously close the store in the middle of the day so you could come up here and bring me a treat?” He picks up the bag and puts it in his lap. The conversation with his mom has temporarily defeated his appetite.</p>
<p>Patrick shrugs and licks his lips. He sits on the sofa beside David and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I put up a sign. How’s your mom?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Mad.” His mom had been absent for so much of his life, he’s still learning how to respond to any of her genuine emotions.</p>
<p>“She’ll get over it.” Patrick’s voice is reassuring, if only David could believe him.</p>
<p>“Have you met my mom? She still holds a grudge from the time Susan Lucci stepped in front of her on the red carpet at the Daytime Emmys.” He opens the bag and extracts the over-sized chocolate chip cookie.</p>
<p>“Well, she probably likes you better than Susan Lucci.”</p>
<p>He settles back into the circle of Patrick’s arms and bites into his cookie. “Don’t be too sure.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Prisha wants to open a flower shop.” Priya fights to keep her voice even as she sits across the booth in the cafe from Marcy.</p>
<p>“How do you feel about that?” It’s been a couple of weeks since she’s talked to Priya and her friend is still struggling with her daughter’s decision to drop out of business school.</p>
<p>“It is not what I wanted for her.” Priya wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “We have plenty of flowers on the farm. She could have stayed here instead of going to the city.”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.” Marcy has learned the lesson all too well that leaving home is sometimes the only course of action.</p>
<p>“But, then I remember you saying that it is not about me.” Priya gives a small laugh. “She is very happy. Happier than I can remember. She laughs again.”</p>
<p>Marcy smiles, glad to see a glimmer of joy in Priya’s eyes. “The first time Patrick brought David home I caught him laughing over something David had said and I realized he hadn’t laughed like that in years. That’s when I knew that he’d done the right thing.”</p>
<p>“Can I take your plates?” Twyla appears beside their table, at their nod, she gathers up the dishes. “Mrs Brewer, it is so exciting that Patrick is running for Town Council.”</p>
<p>“Uh... I didn’t know he was.” Marcy frowns as Priya shakes her head at the revelation.</p>
<p>Twyla juggles the dishes for a moment. “He was in here a couple of days ago with a nomination form. The whole town's talking about it.”</p>
<p>“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” She hasn’t caught up with Patrick since he and David had returned from their weekend away. Apparently, she’s missed more than she thought.</p>
<p>“Gosh, a real election.” Twyla sets the plates back down. “I put my name in as well, it’s going to be so much fun. Nice shirt, by the way, did you get that for David?” Marcy smooths out the black t-shirt she’d purchased on Etsy. Across her chest, the black and yellow lettering reads <em>If I die, tell Moira Rose I loved her.</em></p>
<p>“I just hope he likes the one I bought him.” She’s joking of course, Patrick had told her how David had reacted to the shirt she’d sent him. Maybe she should send David a second shirt. </p>
<p>Marcy finishes her tea and bids farewell to Priya before heading to the ball field. When she gets there, Patrick is already on the field, his Cafe Tropical team gathered around him in a huddle. Clint stands beside him, speaking intently as the team listens. After the youth baseball league had wrapped up for the season, Patrick had asked Clint to coach the Cafe Tropical team. So far they’ve managed to get along without any major conflict. At the opposing bench, Ronnie and Roland wear the blue and red uniforms of Bob’s Garage.</p>
<p>“Let’s go, let’s go, okay, we got this.” Even from this far away, Patrick’s voice rings out as he rallies his team. His desire to win is etched in the intense expression on his face. She searches for a seat in the rickety stands, David waves to her from the far end of the second row.</p>
<p>David eyes her shirt, a grimace on his face. “What is this plague on modern fashion that you’re wearing?”</p>
<p>“You don’t like it?” Her tone is light and innocent as she slides onto the bleachers beside him. “I wanted to celebrate Moira.”</p>
<p>David is genuinely taken aback and she smothers a giggle as he struggles to say something polite. “Well, uh, it’s black, so that’s nice.”</p>
<p>“I have to say, David, I’m disappointed you’re not wearing the one I bought for you.” Pure horror flashes across David’s face and she snickers.</p>
<p>David scowls at her and rolls his eyes. “You are the absolute worst. You’re even worse than Patrick.”</p>
<p>“I love you too, honey.” David’s annoyance is more than worth it. Maybe she’ll get him some other Sunrise Bay souvenirs for Christmas.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” David mutters the word but he tucks a smile into his cheek.</p>
<p>On the field, Roland walks to home plate, a portable microphone in one hand. “Listen, I have to go do something, I’ll be right back.” David walks onto the field and joins Twyla and a couple of other people who are standing behind Roland. His black and white sweater makes him stand out among the t-shirts and plaid of the rest of the townspeople. With a frown, Marcy waits for Roland to speak, curious about what’s about to happen.</p>
<p>A whine of interference fills the air as Roland taps on the microphone. “Okay, okay. Settle down. Before we get to the big game, we have some pre-game entertainment from this year’s Town Council candidates. As you all know, we have four candidates for two vacancies on Council for this by-election. Each candidate will say a few words and then they’ll throw out a ceremonial first pitch.”</p>
<p>Marcy looks for Patrick, but he’s sitting on the bench with the rest of his teammates. Shouldn’t he be with the others? And why is David on the field? “First up, Jake Hembaud.” There’s another squeal from the mic as Roland hands it to Jake.</p>
<p>Jake? Wait, that’s Jake? The lanky man in the plaid shirt oozes sex appeal. She’s refused to think about the relationship this man has with her son and David but now that she’s seen him, the attraction is obvious. Heat rises in her cheeks and she’s glad no one is sitting next to her as she shifts on the hard wooden bench.</p>
<p>“Hey everybody.” Jake’s voice is a low, rough drawl. Marcy tries to ignore the fact that the voice of a man young enough to be her son sends shivers up her spine. “Most of you know me, I meet a lot of people.” A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd and Marcy frowns, hoping people aren’t being rude. “Anyway, I really want to make Schitt’s Creek a place where people have more opportunities to connect.” There’s more laughter and some applause and someone lets out a wolf whistle. On the team Cafe Tropicale bench, Stevie is grinning broadly. Jake points a finger at Stevie, giving her an exaggerated wink as he passes off the microphone.</p>
<p>Fatima is up next. She speaks in a firm, quiet voice about how she wants to see more business opportunities in Schitt’s Creek. When she’s finished, she passes the microphone to David.</p>
<p>“Hi, I’m David Rose. My husband, Patrick and I own Rose Apothecary.” Patrick whoops from the bench. “That’s him, right over there, can’t miss him.” David grins to himself and takes a deep breath, his right hand clenches into a fist, it bobs in the air as he speaks. “When I moved to this town, I hated it and I couldn’t wait to leave.”</p>
<p>“We get that a lot!” Someone Marcy doesn’t know yells from the stands.</p>
<p>David chuckles a little. “This town is my home. And...I think I can make it better.” There’s loud applause as David passes the mic to Twyla and Stevie lets out another whistle. Over all the other noise Patrick yells his support. Clearly, there’s been a misunderstanding. She glances at Ronnie, she’s watching David, her eyes narrowed.</p>
<p>Once everyone is quiet, Twyla introduces herself. “Hi My name is Twyla.” She gestures to the name tag that she wears at the cafe. “I’ve lived in this town my whole life and my friend Alexis taught me you have to invest in things that make you happy. So, I’m running because I want to give back some things this town has given me.” Twyla’s smile lights up her face and she hands the mic back to Roland.</p>
<p>“Okay, isn’t this fun?” Roland breathes into the mic and the static bounces across the field. “Now, each of our candidates will throw out a ceremonial pitch. Remember their form is important for when we face Elm Glen in the annual inter-municipal softball tournament every year.”</p>
<p>The candidates dutifully follow Roland to the pitcher’s mound. Jake takes the ball from Roland and whips a pitch across home plate, making the catcher stagger. Twyla is up next, her pitch lands easily in the catcher’s glove. Fatima follows, gliding a soft pitch across the plate and Roland hands the ball to David. He rotates it in his hand. “This is dumb.” The mic catches his words and they float across the field.</p>
<p>“You can do this, David.” Patrick’s voice rings out. David’s eyes meet Patrick’s and a soft expression crosses his face.</p>
<p>“Fine.” David throws the ball. His delivery is graceless, all elbows as his feet are rooted to the ground but the ball sails beautifully across the plate landing with a satisfying thunk in the catcher’s mitt.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t that great, everybody? A round of applause for the candidates.” There’s some half-hearted applause from the bleachers. “May the best person win.” Roland jogs to the sidelines to hand the mic to Jocelyn before conferring with the umpire. Patrick joins them at home plate as they complete the coin toss and the Cafe Tropicale team takes the field. David settles back beside her on the rough wooden seat. “Nice job, honey.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, mom.” The words hang between them and Marcy does her best not to acknowledge them, not wanting to embarrass David, even as his face flushes bright red.</p>
<p>“I just...I just called you mom. And that’s not, that’s not your name. You can just pretend that didn’t happen.” David looks everywhere but at her, his eyes jumping across the field, searching for a safe place to land.</p>
<p>“David, it’s fine.” She pats his arm gently. “You can call me whatever you want. Just don’t call me late for dinner. That’s what Clint would say. But you know, whatever you want to call me is fine with me, I don’t mind.” She’s babbling, words falling from her mouth as David’s eyes widen, locked onto hers. She takes a deep breath and squeezes his arm, forcing herself to slow down. “Really, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>Beneath her hand she some of the tension seeps out of David. “It’s okay if I don’t though, right?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?” She stalls for time, not wanting to make an awkward situation even worse by saying the wrong thing.</p>
<p>“It’s okay if I don’t call you mom?” A note of anxiety underpins David’s voice and she hastens to reassure him.</p>
<p>“Of course, honey. Marcy is just fine. As long as you don’t go back to calling me Mrs Brewer, that just reminds me of Clint’s mom and let’s just say that those are memories that I don’t want to revisit.” As far as she was concerned, Clint’s mom had been a passive-aggressive monster who had worked very hard to make sure Marcy always felt off balance. She squeezes David’s arm again, grateful that she and David have a very different relationship.</p>
<p>A crack of the bat draws their attention to the field as the ball drops into the outfield and Patrick rounds first and slides into second. She cheers with the crowd and David applauds reluctantly beside her. “Why can’t he just run to the bases instead of flopping around on the ground? Now he’s all dirty.” David pauses, his eyes focused on Patrick on second base. “It’s your shirt’s fault.”</p>
<p>“That Patrick is all dirty?” She’s lost the thread of the conversation.</p>
<p>David laughs for a second before becoming serious again. “No, that I called you mom.”</p>
<p>Marcy chuckles, the lettering on her shirt is bright against the black. Even upside down the words are clear. ‘If I die, tell Moira Rose I loved her.’</p>
<p>“My mom hasn’t spoken to me in a week.” David keeps his eyes focused on the game. On the field, a pop fly sends Patrick from second to third. “She thinks Stevie’s business decisions are my fault.”</p>
<p>Marcy doesn’t trust Moira to do the right thing for her kids, but she hurries to reassure David. “Oh, honey. I’m sure she’ll come around.”</p>
<p>“Everyone keeps saying that like they’ve never met my mom. She refused to speak to one of her costars on Sunrise Bay for two years just because they drank the last bottle of sparkling water on set.” Moira has a boundless capacity to hold a grudge. Marcy bares her teeth, schooling her expression into a grimace at the last second.</p>
<p>The player at the plate hits the ball and it drops in behind the second baseman. Patrick takes off as soon as it hits the ground, crossing home plate standing up. Applause breaks out in the stands and on the mound, Ronnie kicks at the dirt in disgust. David smiles fondly as Patrick’s teammates greet him with loud cheers and hugs on the bench. “Well. You know you can always talk to Clint or I if you need to.”</p>
<p>David pulls his attention away from the game and glances down at her. “Thanks, mo— Marcy.” She bites her lips together, trying not to snicker as David pinches his lips together. “Goddammit.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick lingers by the doors of Town Hall, leaning with artificial casualness against the turquoise blue wainscoting. On the far side of the room Ronnie talks with Roland, a plate containing her carefully grown tomatoes in her hands.</p>
<p>His tomatoes ripened just in time. Mariah has successfully kept the squirrels away and his tomatoes rebounded; his three best sit on a plate on a table with the other submissions. He runs a critical eye over the other entries. His are the best so far and Ronnie is the only other serious contender. He keeps his eyes glued to her back, waiting for her to set her entry next to his. His tomatoes are perfect. Surely they’re good enough to beat Ronnie this year— </p>
<p>“Having fun, honey?” He nearly jumps out of his skin when David materializes beside him.</p>
<p>“Just waiting for Ronnie’s tomatoes.” David follows his line of sight, grinning when he sees Ronnie at the end of the hall. Patrick nods at the cards in David’s hands. “How’s the campaigning going?” He’d tried to convince David that his campaign materials should include information about what he was planning to do if he got elected, but David had refused. His postcards are black with an elegant white font that reads <strong>Vote David Rose</strong>.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” Ronnie drawls his name as she comes towards him, carrying her tomatoes. “Nice tomatoes you’ve got there. Not as nice as mine, but pretty good for a beginner.”</p>
<p>“This is the third year I’ve entered, Ronnie.” Ronnie’s words puncture his confidence, leaving him lopsided and uneven.</p>
<p>“Yeah, like I said, not bad for a beginner. Maybe I can talk to Roland about having a novice category next year so you can win something.” She cackles at the thought, enjoying her own joke. A deep-rooted need to win burns inside him, his eyes drop to the plate holding her tomatoes, they’re perfectly round and deliciously ripe.</p>
<p>“We’ll see.” Ronnie sets her plate down on the table beside his. Crossing his arms, he mutters to David. “Man, I want to beat her.” At some point his goal shifted from growing the best tomatoes to beating Ronnie. He wants to win. He wants it so badly he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. It tastes like validation.</p>
<p>“I know you do, honey.” David’s fingers stroke his shoulder, trying to soothe. “Maybe next year.”</p>
<p>“They haven’t even done the judging for this year.” Even from a distance, Ronnie’s tomatoes are redder than his.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s just that Ronnie seems pretty confident.”</p>
<p>“Hmmpf.” He scowls at David, not wanting to admit that Ronnie might once again have the upper hand.</p>
<p>Ronnie finishes arranging her tomatoes and steps back to talk to them again. “So Patrick, I thought you would run for Council. Decided you didn’t have what it takes, hmm?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, why does Ronnie think you’re running for Council?” David plays with his rings, gold flashing in the light. </p>
<p>“I didn’t— I wasn’t— You just assumed.” It’s not his fault that Ronnie leapt to conclusions.</p>
<p>“I don’t recall you saying anything different.” Ronnie gives him the stare she reserves just for him. “C’mon, David, there’s some people you should meet.” Ronnie leads David to a group standing near the zucchini table and Patrick takes the opportunity to subtly check out Ronnie’s tomatoes. David’s not wrong, they’re perfectly sized with just the right amount of color. He turns his back to the table with a huff. It will come down to the judges.</p>
<p>“Dave!” Roland’s bellow fills up the room, pulling his attention away from the produce. “Joc and I were just talking about how great it is that you want to follow in your mom’s footsteps.”</p>
<p>David hides his grimace before he faces Roland. “Is that what I’m doing?”</p>
<p>“You know, my ancestors founded this town and Schitts have been mayor ever since. But now we have a new family legacy. Almost like Roses grow in—” Patrick laughs to himself as revulsion travels across David’s face.</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about saying those words.” David backs away from Roland, plastering on a smile as he talks to a group of people admiring a table filled with pumpkins.</p>
<p>Roland aside, David’s good with people when he wants to be; people are smiling and nodding as he talks to them. David comes back around to Patrick, his hands are empty, he’s given away all of his postcards. “Did you tell your mom you were doing this?”</p>
<p>David nods, suddenly sombre. “She said my time would be better spent copying her in other ways.” David says the words mockingly, but they stab Patrick through the heart anyway. Not for the first time, he swallows down the urge to give Moira a piece of his mind about the way she sometimes treats her son.</p>
<p>“They’re both wrong, you know. Roland and your mom.” He slips his arm around David’s waist, his fingers gripping David’s hip.</p>
<p>“Hmm?” David leans into him as he scratches softly at the rough cloth of David’s jeans.</p>
<p>“You’ve never copied anyone in your life. You’ll do this in your own way or not at all, David Rose.”</p>
<p>“Ha.” David hides his smile in his cheek, but he’s pleased. His hand finds Patrick’s shoulder, but his fingers are less frantic than before, stroking thoughtful circles across his sweater.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Second place is pretty good.” Patrick pouts at David, his bottom lip is definitely protruding more than usual. Holding back his teasing, David squeezes Patrick’s shoulder instead.</p>
<p>Patrick thrusts the blue ribbon and the plate of tomatoes onto the kitchen counter with a dramatic thunk. One tomato rolls off the plate and settles in the middle of the counter. “There were only four entries, David. I can’t believe Ronnie won. Again.”</p>
<p>“I know. I’m sure you’ll do better next year.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s temple. Mariah barks at the back door and he steps around Patrick to let her in, giving her a treat when she sits nicely for him.</p>
<p>He bends down to scratch her ears when his phone buzzes on the counter. Patrick leans over to check the display. “It’s Stevie.” He takes the phone from Patrick and declines the call. He hasn’t spoken to Stevie in almost a week. Not since she’d announced her takeover of the Rosebud. Patrick nods towards the phone. “You should talk to her.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to talk to her.” Talking to Stevie means he has to be reminded that his entire family is mad at him for something he didn’t even do. Something that’s Stevie’s fault.</p>
<p>“David.”</p>
<p>He’s being unreasonable. And he misses Stevie terribly. This is the longest he’s gone without talking to her since they’d met. But talking to her means he has to acknowledge that he’s angry that she put him in this situation and he’s not ready yet. He shakes his head at Patrick, setting his phone back down on the counter.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick runs his hands up his biceps, massaging the tops of his shoulders. “Do you want me to talk to her?”</p>
<p>“No.” He shakes his head again. Patrick can’t fix this for him. “Maybe you could text her? Just to make sure she’s okay?”</p>
<p>Patrick’s hands cup his face and he presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “Okay. Just to make sure she’s okay.” Patrick pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a text. His phone buzzes almost immediately.</p>
<p>“What did she say?” He tries to grab Patrick’s phone but his husband holds it out of his reach.</p>
<p>“If you want to talk to Stevie, you can text her yourself.” Patrick’s face softens at the distressed look on his face. “She says you should call her when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound like Stevie. What did she really say?”</p>
<p>“No, really. That’s what she said.” Patrick holds up his phone to show David the message. Sincerity from Stevie is unexpected. If he needed further proof Stevie hadn’t taken control of the Rosebud lightly, this was it. He should call her. But he can’t bring himself to bring up her number.</p>
<p>“Tell her— tell her I’m not ready yet.” He hands the phone back to Patrick, swallowing the lump in his throat.</p>
<p>Patrick sends the text, before wrapping him into a hug, his hands stroking up and down David’s back. “Stevie will still be there when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>“I know.” The words are muffled as he tucks his face into Patrick’s neck. “It’s not like either of us is capable of finding a new best friend.”</p>
<p>Patrick pulls him closer, they sway together. “Should I text her back and tell her that?”</p>
<p>With a weak laugh that’s damper than he’d like, he lifts his head. “She already knows.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Knit two, purl one. Knit two, purl one. Clint consults the pattern for the dog sweater that he’s knitting Mariah. It’s more of a poncho than a sweater, knitting dog-sized sleeves is still beyond his ability. He stops to count the rows. Fifteen. Five more and he can stop and knit the collar.</p>
<p>Jocelyn was right. Knitting is very soothing, with just enough structure to occupy the part of his mind that relishes order. He’s been to the knitting circle twice more since the first time, slowly but surely becoming more confident. Knit two, purl one. Slowly but surely he builds a rhythm, the needles clicking back and forth.</p>
<p>If his dad could see him now. Maybe he’d laugh. The needles are tiny in his large hands. He comes to the end of the row and checks the pattern again. His dad had been a traditional guy. He probably wouldn’t have laughed at Clint’s knitting, but he probably wouldn't have said anything either. His dad had never known David. Clint tries and fails to imagine what he would have thought about his son’s husband. For the first time, he doesn’t care. He’s proud of his little sweater and he’s proud of David. Nothing else matters.</p>
<p>Knitting the sweater for Mariah had been Marcy’s idea. She’d argued that the dog wouldn’t care if he dropped some stitches. He’s not sure that David will extend the same degree of forgiveness, but it’s a good idea nonetheless. He has made some mistakes, which he hates, but he keeps going, wanting to finish this first project, needing to prove to himself that he can do something new and out of his comfort zone. He’s counting his stitches again, mumbling to himself when Ray comes into the office carrying a thick file in one hand.</p>
<p>Clint has tried to take Patrick’s advice and schedule his time in the office for when Ray is away but keeping track of Ray’s schedule is surprisingly difficult. “Clint. I’m so glad I caught you. You must be so busy because we’re never here at the same time.”</p>
<p>“Ray.” He puts down his knitting, he’s lost track again and he doesn’t want to make more mistakes just because he’s distracted by Ray.</p>
<p>“And how wonderful that you’re here at your desk, but not too busy to indulge yourself.” Ray gestures at his knitting. As always, the backhanded compliment makes him bristle.</p>
<p>“Is there something I can help you with?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Ray rocks forward on his toes, hands clasped around the folder. Clint waits for him to continue, but Ray just beams at him.</p>
<p>“What can I help you with, Ray?” Ray’s natural loquaciousness has deserted him.</p>
<p>“Jocelyn said you might give me some advice?”</p>
<p>Cautiously, he squints at Ray. “Well, legal advice, yes.”</p>
<p>“Sure, sure.” Ray beams at him again and Clint wishes he’d get to the point. Ray sinks into the chair in front of his desk. “So, Bob and I have started seeing each other and I wondered if you had any suggestions about new relationships?”</p>
<p>Huh. It doesn’t look like Bob and Gwen will be getting back together, then. “Ray. I’m not giving relationship advice. What— what did Jocelyn tell you?”</p>
<p>“She said you were very helpful with the problem she and Roland were having.”</p>
<p>“Did she.” There’s no point in talking to Jocelyn about this, hopefully Ray is the only person she’s spoken to. “Was there anything else?”</p>
<p>Ray sets the folder down on the desk in front of him. “I thought we might work out a deal. You could assist me with the paperwork for my businesses for a portion of the generously low fee you’re paying for your desk.” When he’d approached Ray about renting a space, he’d talked him down to a fee that was on the borderline of reasonable.</p>
<p>Raising one eyebrow at Ray, he flips open the folder and reads the first form. <strong>Ray’s Knife Sharpening</strong> He flips the page. <strong>Ray’s Hairdressing and Barbershop</strong></p>
<p>“Are these all your businesses?” He rifles through the pages. There must be dozens of different business registrations in the file.</p>
<p>“Oh yes.” Ray beams happily. Clint flips a few more pages.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Ray’s Catering</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>Ray’s Fitness Centre</strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>Ray’s Home Improvement</strong>
</p>
<p>“What is this, 50 Trades of Ray?”</p>
<p>“Oh, very droll. I like to register as many business names as possible. You never know when inspiration might strike.” Ray nods with satisfaction as though this is a recommended business strategy.</p>
<p>“An hour per week. Credited at my usual rate.” If he gives Ray an inch, it won’t be long before he’s doing nothing but working for Ray for free.</p>
<p>“Oh. Very good.” Ray seems taken aback. “It’s a shame Patrick isn’t here, he relished the challenge of dealing with my business endeavors.”</p>
<p>That isn’t true, but Clint picks his battles. “One hour. Take it or leave it.” He reaches for his knitting needles.</p>
<p>“Very well. My goodness look at the time. I have to set up for the open house and closet organizer demonstration that I’m holding at the old grain elevator.” With a bob of his head, Ray gathers up his things and leaves, passing Ronnie on her way in.</p>
<p>“I hear you’re giving free legal advice.” As usual, Ronnie gets right to the point.</p>
<p>At least she’s not asking for relationship advice. “I don’t know about free.” He’s prepared to take a hard line with Ray, but Ronnie is a different matter.</p>
<p>“Hmm. It might be in your best interest to give some free advice to the person who found your son’s dog and didn’t tell David about it.” Ronnie glares down at him, hands on her hips.</p>
<p>He sighs. She’s right, David would lose his mind and never trust them with Mariah again if he ever found out. “Fine, what can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“Marcy’s told you about the Women’s Business Association?” He nods as she continues. “There’s a young woman who’s trying to start her business but she’s having some trouble with the incorporation process. Can you help her?”</p>
<p>“Yes, probably.” He’s done his fair share of incorporations, they’re tedious but not difficult.</p>
<p>“Good. Then we’ll be square.” His skepticism must show on his face because her eyes narrow. “I mean it. I don’t hold grudges.” She gets up and walks to the door, chuckling a little. “Unless you’re Patrick.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>People pack the cafe, every table is full. On the far side of the room, his parents are holding a booth for them and he’s grateful they arrived early. He and David left late because of David’s inability to choose a sweater that properly represented the significance of the election results.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, you guys, I can’t wait to hear the election results.” Twyla emerges from the middle of a knot of people as they try to move through the room. “This is so exciting. Now I know how Sharon Castille felt when she was elected by acclamation to the Elmdale Chamber of Commerce.”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.” Over time he’s learned not to ask follow-up questions about Twyla’s stories. </p>
<p>“Listen. I just want to say good luck tonight.” Twyla grasps David’s arm. “It’s never easy competing with your friends. My cousin was in the regional tap dance finals with her best friend and they didn’t speak to each other for ten years, but I know we won’t be like that.” To his shock, Twyla hugs them both. He shrugs as David gives him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Good luck to you.” Leaving Twyla behind he follows David as he weaves through the crowd, nearly crashing into his husband’s back as David comes to an abrupt halt. Patrick steadies himself on David’s shoulders, peering around him. Stevie stands in David’s path, her hands on her hips.</p>
<p>“You have to talk to me eventually.” Stevie sounds confident, but Patrick doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick around the room before returning to David.</p>
<p>“Do I?” David crosses his arms and glares at her. They still haven’t spoken about the Rosebud buyout. He texts Stevie now and then to check in, but so far David has refused to reach out. David misses her, even though he won’t admit it. He catches David by the hips, giving Stevie a rueful smile over his husband’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“David. Are you going to give up your best friend over a business deal?” He rubs his hands over David’s shoulders, squeezing gently against the tension beneath his fingers.</p>
<p>“My mom hasn’t spoken to me in over a week.” David’s voice is loud, cutting through the noise of the crowd. Stevie winces, but she doesn’t move out of the way. Patrick sighs to himself. This isn’t the place for this conversation, but this is where they’re having it. Tilting his head at Stevie, Patrick draws David to the side of the room, out of the flow of the traffic.</p>
<p>“Look, I’m sorry your mom isn’t taking this well. But your dad and I have worked out some things, I think it’s going to be fine.” Stevie pauses and takes a gulp of her wine. “And I’ve really missed you.”</p>
<p>David huffs at her. Beneath Patrick’s hand, the tension leaves David’s body. “I might have missed you as well.”</p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>Patrick rolls his eyes, the sarcastic words of his husband and his best friend are equivalent to anyone else’s love language.</p>
<p>Stevie takes another drink of her wine. “And, since I haven’t been around for all of this.” She waves a hand at the election night celebration. “I want to say that I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there like this. It takes a lot of courage.”</p>
<p>“Well, thank you.” David picks an invisible piece of fuzz off the sleeve of his sweater.</p>
<p>“For god’s sake, just give her a hug already.” Patrick gets two identical eye rolls for his trouble, but David envelopes Stevie in a lengthy hug.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” He’d know that drawn out growl anywhere, it crawls up his spine like always.</p>
<p>“Jake.” Jake never changes. He’s hot. Distracting. David won’t rescue him, he’s having an animated discussion with Stevie.</p>
<p>“Haven’t seen you and David around much lately.” They haven’t been to Jake’s since his parents moved to town. At some point, he and David will have to revisit what that means, but this isn’t the time or the place.</p>
<p>“Ah, we’ve been busy. We’re, um, expanding the store. And uh, with the election. And other stuff.” Even now Jake always leaves him flustered, he’s never sure if their conversation will be fully appropriate for anyone to overhear. Hopefully his parents are too far away to overhear. He peers over Jake’s shoulder. Behind them his mom laughs as they talk happily to Ronnie.</p>
<p>“Oh, I get that. All the different events have definitely put a crimp in my usual plans. You wouldn’t believe the number of new people I’ve had to have over for whiskey the past couple of weeks.” Patrick chuckles awkwardly at everything that’s implied in Jake’s statement and Jake winks at him.</p>
<p>“Well, good to see you, man. And good luck. I think.” The possibility of Jake being elected to Town Council is more than a little alarming. Jake clasps him on the shoulder and moves into the crowd. While they’ve been talking, David and Stevie have joined his mom and dad in their booth. He’s about to join them when someone else calls his name.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” No one else says his name with the same snap. He turns as Ronnie points at him from across the room.</p>
<p>“Ronnie.” He waits as she fights her way through the crowd towards him. </p>
<p>“I need to talk to you for a minute.” She comes to a stop in front of him, her eyes appraising. Is she going to gloat about the tomatoes again? Surely this can wait until tomorrow? He pastes a smile on his face.</p>
<p>“We’re talking now.” The insolent words from escape without his permission, she’ll make him regret them in mere moments.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a smart ass.” Ronnie pushes through the crowd and leads him outside. It’s still light out, the warm evening tones of the sun are casting long shadows. “I’ve got the election results.” She waves a piece of paper at him.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Despite her antipathy towards him, Ronnie would go to substantial lengths to protect David. Fearing the worst, he nods at the paper. “Is it bad news for David?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly. People thought both you and David were running. You got enough write-in votes for second place.” Ronnie taps the paper against her palm.</p>
<p>“What? But I don’t want to be on Council.” He doesn’t. Does he? No, any twinges of jealousy he’d felt about David’s potential election have faded after watching him go to events and talk to dozens of people over the past couple of weeks.</p>
<p>“You’ve got two choices. You can accept the win and you and David are both elected. Or, you can withdraw and Twyla gets the second seat.” Ronnie taps the paper, waiting for his answer.</p>
<p>The competitive side of him wants to take the win. Together, he and David could hold the balance of power on Council. They make a good team, they’d get things done. But it would be bad for their business and bad for the plans they’ve made. As much as he loves to win, he wants to expand their business even more. And how will David feel about him intruding, when he’d wanted to do this on his own? “I withdraw.”</p>
<p>“Good choice. And I’m not just saying that because we’d have to see each other every day.” With no further chitchat, Ronnie turns to go back inside the cafe.</p>
<p>“Ronnie— Can we keep this between us?”</p>
<p>Her eyes narrow and as she considers. “Yeah.” She holds the door open for him. “Let’s go, hotshot, I’ve got results to announce.”</p>
<p>Back inside, he pushes his way to the back of the cafe, sliding into the booth beside David and Stevie. It’s a tight fit, and he’s pressed against David from hip to ankle. He tangles his foot around David’s, lacing their fingers together on the tabletop. David kisses his temple. “Where did you go?”</p>
<p>“Uh, I’ll tell you later.” David frowns at him, but before he says anything Ronnie taps on the portable mic and climbs up onto a chair at the other end of the cafe.</p>
<p>“Well, another cutthroat Schitt’s Creek election has come to a close.” There’s a wave of laughter followed by a squeal from the mic. “We had a record number of write-in candidates for this election.” Ronnie’s eyes meet his. “Unfortunately for Clappy the Clown, this just wasn’t his year.” Patrick smiles at her, relieved and she nods at him imperceptibly.</p>
<p>“The official results are:<br/>Jake Hembeaux, 204 votes<br/>Fatima Mohammed, 341 votes<br/>Twyla Sands, 405 votes<br/>David Rose, 512 votes”</p>
<p>“Congratulations, David and Twyla and welcome to Town Council.” Ronnie takes Dulce’s hand for support and steps down off the chair.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, David, you won!” Ignoring the close quarters of the booth, Stevie squeals and throws her arms around David.</p>
<p>“David, I’m so proud of you.” His mom leans across the booth and squeezes David’s hand. Both she and his dad are beaming. Even though Ronnie already told him that David had been elected, he can’t stop smiling.</p>
<p>“I’m so proud of you, honey.” He presses a kiss to David’s cheek and steps aside to let David out of the booth. Before David gets caught up with the other people who are waiting to congratulate him, he wraps him in a tight hug, whispering in his ear. “Don’t party too hard, I want to show you how proud I am when we’re alone tonight.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” David responds, a low purr beneath his hand before people surge towards them.</p>
<p>“Dave!” Predictably, Roland is first in line to offer his congratulations. “I can’t wait until we get to work together every day.”</p>
<p>“Oh, me neither.” David grimaces at Roland. Patrick smothers his laugh, sure that David’s complaints about Roland are about to increase dramatically.</p>
<p>“Patrick. Isn’t this exciting?” Jocelyn pulls his attention away from David. She chats at him happily. “You know, you and I have a very important role to play.”</p>
<p>“Do we?” Somehow he’s not surprised that Jocelyn sees herself as part of a Schitt’s Creek power couple. He puts on his best smile as she continues.</p>
<p>“It takes a team effort to run this town. That’s why I show up at all of Rollie’s public appearances.”</p>
<p>“That seems like more of a personal choice on your part.” He suspects that a key part of his role will be to listen to David complain about Roland and Jocelyn.</p>
<p>“Oh no. Rollie assures me it’s a requirement of the job.” Jocelyn nods enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“Does he? Well, we’ll see.” David has escaped Roland and he’s been engulfed by a crowd of people eager to congratulate him. Several unfamiliar people pat David on the back and his husband tips his head back and laughs at something one of them says. David has never understood that people see him as one of their own. As though he senses Patrick’s eyes on him, David lifts his head, a smile teasing his lips. ‘I love you.’ Patrick mouths the words, David’s smile grows even bigger. He’s so caught up watching David in his element he jumps a little as Stevie sneaks up beside him.</p>
<p>“He’s come a long way.” Stevie nods at David, engrossed in conversation with Twyla. “I remember him describing this town as a vomit-soaked dump.”</p>
<p>“So have you. Changed, I mean.” As he expects, this earns him an eye roll and a hard look from Stevie. “It’s true. Whatever happened to the woman who was made of snark and allergic to work?”</p>
<p>“I’m still made of snark and now I have people to do the work.” Stevie lifts her chin and puts her hands on her hips. “It’s the best of both worlds, really.”</p>
<p>“Are you guys okay?” He’ll ask David the same question later, but he wants to hear it from Stevie too.</p>
<p>“Yep.” Stevie doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t expect her to.</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Marcy kicks off her shoes in the hall, ignoring Clint’s eye roll when she doesn’t bother to put them away in the closet. It’s almost midnight, they’d left David and Patrick still celebrating David’s election win at the cafe.</p>
<p>“Ooohhh.” She loves the new shoes she’d worn tonight, but they aren’t broken in yet. She wiggles her toes, easing the pain in the balls of her feet. Behind her, Clint hangs up his jacket and tucks both their shoes into the hall closet.</p>
<p>Before she can head upstairs, Clint’s hands find her shoulders and he pulls her backwards into an embrace, pressing a kiss in front of her ear. She relaxes into his arms for a moment, closing her eyes until exhaustion threatens to overwhelm her. “Okay, upstairs before I fall asleep on the spot. It’s bedtime.”</p>
<p>Clint takes the bathroom first while she changes into her nightgown. She’s so proud of David, for putting himself out there, for trying something new. And she’s relieved. David’s win means he and Patrick are certain to stay in Schitt’s Creek for the immediate future. And where David goes, Patrick goes. Not that she wants Patrick to feel tied down but she’s glad all the same.</p>
<p>Clint climbs into bed beside her and she tucks her head on his shoulder. “I’m so proud of David.”</p>
<p>“Me too. And I’m glad he and Stevie have reconciled.” Her fears about David’s falling out with Stevie had evaporated at the joy on Stevie’s face when the election results were announced.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a moment, toying with the edge of the bedspread. “I hope the Roses are as generous when they arrive for the Fan Convention next week.”</p>
<p>“Well, the good news is that they’ll only be here for a week.” Clint strokes her shoulder. What will it be like to have Johnny and Moira come back here? Moira will be unchanged, she never considered herself anything more than an unwilling visitor in this town. Still, the Roses always have a larger than life presence and the impact of their tenure in Schitt’s Creek is still clear.</p>
<p>More than how the town might react, she’s worried about David and Stevie’s falling out with Moira. It will make for an uncomfortable visit if Moira gives them the cold shoulder. Maybe she can help mend things between them. She takes her phone off the nightstand and types out a quick text.</p>
<p>Maybe it doesn’t matter. Hopefully, Johnny and Moira see the things that David and Patrick and Stevie are building here, without them. Sleep claims her. She’s glad to be part of it, even just a little.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David swings their joined hands between them, Patrick’s fingers are warm between his, linking the two of them as they walk down the middle of the pitch black street. He’s drunk, that carefree kind of drunk where everything is soft and warm and blurry around the edges.</p>
<p>“I’m proud of you.” Patrick stops walking, pulling David back towards him. He lets go of David’s hand, putting his hands in their familiar place on his hips. David responds automatically, his hands finding Patrick’s shoulders.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes in the darkness. “I don’t know why, it’s just Schitt’s Creek. Jersey Shore: Family Vacation got more votes at the MTV Awards.”</p>
<p>He sways in Patrick’s arms. Or maybe the world is swaying. He giggles at the thought and Patrick’s hands tighten on his hips. “David. People here respect you.” A teasing tone creeps into Patrick’s voice. “Some of them even like you. You’re wildly popular. Some might even call you beloved.”</p>
<p>“That’s a bit of a stretch.” He means it to be a joke, but Patrick’s shoulders go still beneath his hands and his husband is serious.</p>
<p>“Because you’re smart and funny—”</p>
<p>“And well-dressed.”</p>
<p>“And well-dressed. And because you love this town.” Patrick’s voice is soft and the weight of his eyes is steady, even in the darkness.</p>
<p>“Ugh. How dare you say such a thing?” He tries to reject what Patrick is saying but his words lack any heat.  </p>
<p>“Admit it. At some point you fell in love with this place.” Patrick’s hands tighten on his waist, drawing him closer.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of our lives here. Or that we won’t do all of those things you want to do.” He’d promised Patrick they’d build their business. Travel. Explore together. He doesn’t want to go back on that promise, or any promise, that he makes to Patrick.</p>
<p>“I know.” Patrick kisses him then, in the moonlight in the middle of the street. He tastes like champagne and happiness and David laughs out loud at the pure joy of it. “You’re drunk.” Patrick grins at him, a flash of teeth in the darkness.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” He’s giddy with it, he has a sudden desire to spin in circles like a teenage girl walking home after her first high school dance. He grips Patrick’s hand and flings himself out to the extent of their clasped hands, trusting Patrick to pull him back in. Before he can give into the indulgence, his phone buzzes in his pocket.</p>
<p><strong>Mom: </strong>David I understand felicitations are in order</p>
<p>With a sigh, his good mood unravels. Patrick peers over at his phone, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically.</p>
<p><strong>David: </strong>How did you hear that?<br/><strong>Mom: </strong>Marcy texted me with the key communique<br/><strong>David: </strong>So you’re speaking to me again, then?<br/><strong>Mom: </strong>David why must you always overreact to these things when you could simply accept congratulations when they are offered<br/><strong>David: </strong>Were they offered, though?</p>
<p>He thrusts the phone at Patrick. “I can’t deal with this right now.” He walks up the street, his arms crossed on his chest. After a few moments, Patrick catches up to him, handing his phone back. Is it too much to ask that his family be happy for him? He hugs his arms to his chest. “Thanks honey.” The darkness hides his tears of frustration and he takes Patrick’s hand.</p>
<p>“Any time.” Patrick laces their fingers together and they walk towards home. “She’s proud too.”</p>
<p>“Is she?” His mom rarely shows her appreciation out loud and now that they’re thousands of miles apart, it’s even harder than before for him to tell what she’s thinking.</p>
<p>“You know she’ll never say it, but yeah, I think she is.” Patrick tugs on his hand. “Let’s go home.”</p>
<p>“Not yet.” He pulls Patrick to him, wrapping his arms fully around his neck, the two of them swaying together in the middle of the empty street. Next week his family, along with hundreds of Sunrise Bay fans, will descend on their town, this might be the last moment of peace they have for a while. A stray thought occurs to him. “What did Ronnie want?”</p>
<p>“Um.” Patrick sounds sheepish. David pulls back to try to see his face in the dark. “Apparently a bunch of people wrote me in as a candidate. But I withdrew.”</p>
<p>“How could you say no?”</p>
<p>“I think having one of us on Town Council is more than enough.” Even in the dark, he can see the flash of Patrick’s teeth as he grins.</p>
<p>David’s voice pitches higher as he stares at his husband in disbelief. “But we could have outvoted Roland!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Friends and Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Stevie throws the ball and Mariah bounds across the back lawn, her stubby tail wagging furiously as she catches up to it. Patrick settles beside Stevie on the top step of the veranda, handing over one of the cold beer bottles he’s retrieved from the fridge.</p>
<p>“So.” He clinks his bottle against hers. “Here’s to making it through the next week in one piece.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to need more beer if you want me to drink to that.” Stevie takes a drink, reaching down for the ball Mariah has dropped at her feet, the dog’s dark eyes are eager in her fuzzy white face. “What time are they getting in tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Ten-thirty.” Just over twelve hours until the Roses arrive in Elmdale. Stevie’s confirmed their arrival three times in the last two days as though controlling the minutiae will force the bigger problems into compliance. Personal experience tells him it rarely works that way. “How has it been at work, with, uh, Johnny?” The casual name sticks in his throat, even five years into his marriage.</p>
<p>Stevie sighs and she’s quiet for a long moment as the dog chews on the tennis ball in the middle of the lawn. “It’s been okay, I guess. He claims he was ready to step back anyway.” Stevie’s short fingernails tear at the edges of the label on the bottle. They’re more ragged than usual. </p>
<p>Johnny is probably lying. And it’s not Johnny either of them are worried about. David hasn’t spoken to his mom since their text conversation the night of the election. It appears Moira plans on holding a grudge, not just against Stevie, but against him and David as well. Patrick rubs a hand over his face, hating everything about this situation. If it was just David, he’d probably get in the middle of it and try to force the Roses to back down. But it’s not just David and he’s reluctant to get involved in Stevie’s business decisions.</p>
<p>“Did I do the right thing?” Stevie’s eyes are dark as she looks at him, the label is in tatters now. “The market is changing and we have to do more than offer cinnamon buns in the lobby.” Patrick gives her a one-armed hug. The intricacies of managing an international motel chain are beyond his experience. “I feel bad that I’ve put you and David in the middle.” Stevie takes a swig of her beer. </p>
<p>Patrick lifts a shoulder in response. “Honestly, I’m just surprised this hasn’t happened before now.” Mariah drops the ball and rolls on her back in the grass, enjoying the last of the late afternoon sun. “I can’t speak for David but you’re just as important to me as his family is.”</p>
<p>“More. You’re more important.” David appears in the doorway, a glass of wine in one hand. He forces his way between them until Patrick shifts over to make room for him on the middle of the step. David cups his cheek and kisses him quickly. “My mom will get over it. Eventually.”</p>
<p>“Do you think that might happen before ten-thirty tomorrow morning?” If Stevie’s mocking tone is any indication, she’ll be okay. He drapes an arm around David’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His husband cuddles into him, pressing his shoulder against Patrick’s chest.</p>
<p>“How was your day?” He runs his hand across David’s chest, wishing they were alone so he could take things further. He breathes in David’s scent, cedar mixed with sweat and the tiniest hint of the lavender David uses to keep his clothes fresh.</p>
<p>“Oh, long. Roland spent all day reciting his family history.” David has spent all weekend with Roland and Ronnie and Twyla learning about what it means to be on Town Council.  </p>
<p>Based on his description it sounds less like a training session and more like, well, Patrick’s not sure what exactly. “Poor baby.”</p>
<p>“You should be more sympathetic since I stopped for pizza on the way home.” David describes it as though he’s cooked a five course meal.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you just didn’t bring home an empty box? Because we both know that’s happened before.” David wraps his hand around Patrick’s knee, his fingers dig in at Patrick’s teasing.</p>
<p>“I’ll have you know that I even brought enough for Stevie.” David pauses, giving him a sideways glance. “As long as she promises to only have three pieces.”</p>
<p>Stevie snorts as she takes another swig of her beer. “So generous.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The Elmdale airport is small enough that it doesn’t matter where they wait, there’s no way to miss his family when they deplane. David paces around the small waiting area, earning himself a resigned look from Patrick and an annoyed look from a harried mother with two small children. He tries to smile at her, because Patrick would want him to try, but his attempt fails and one kid starts to cry.</p>
<p>“Ugh.” He hurls himself onto the thinly padded vinyl seat beside Patrick and crosses his arms.</p>
<p>“I can’t tell if you want them to get here faster or you’re hoping their flight is delayed.” Patrick looks up from his phone.</p>
<p>He’s not sure either. It’s been six months since he’s seen his parents, but between Stevie’s takeover of the motel group and the fan convention, he’s on edge. At least the fan convention has been moved to Elmdale, so he won’t be subjected to badly costumed versions of his mother roaming the streets. Although Ray had been talking about bus tours...a garbled announcement over the PA system jolts him out of his thoughts and the doors to the arrivals area open. Naturally, his mother leads the small pack of people, his dad, Alexis and the rest of the passengers trailing after her like royalty arriving at court.</p>
<p>“Hello you.” His mom greets him with a pair of air kisses before moving on to do the same for Patrick. Her cool welcome is a stark reminder of how they ended their last text conversation.</p>
<p>“Hi son.” His dad grips his upper arm in the Mad Men style he prefers and offers Patrick a handshake. It’s Alexis who squeals and hugs David warmly, even though he’d seen her only a few weeks before.</p>
<p>“Let us collect our impedimentia so we may begin our pilgrimage.” His mom waves them forward towards the baggage carousel, which lurches to life as though it had been waiting for her command.</p>
<p>Outside, they make their way to the small parking lot, all of them wheeling the hard shell suitcases behind them, except his mom, who has conveniently passed off her three bags to Patrick and his dad. At the car, Patrick and his dad play Tetris with the luggage while he and his mom and Alexis get inside. In the back seat, Alexis flips through her phone. “Okay, so you have your speech tonight at the dinner.” She leans forward to tap their mom on her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Yes dear, Mummy won’t forget the keynote.” His mom is wearing Valerie this morning, dark blue streaks pop against the platinum blonde.</p>
<p>“And tomorrow you’re on two panels. In the morning it’s <em>Too Far Or Not Far Enough? Sunrise Bay’s Most Controversial Storylines</em> and then it’s <em>Keeping Satanic Possession Interesting</em> in the afternoon. But you can’t leave until after five o’clock because you have to sign autographs.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s all in the briefing notes you provided.” Alexis huffs and jabs at her phone as Patrick and his dad squeeze into the back seat beside her.</p>
<p>Patrick gives him a wide-eyed look in the rearview mirror so he assumes the bag storage went as well as expected. “Are we ready?”</p>
<p>“Yep, let’s go, David.” Patrick’s voice is higher than usual.</p>
<p>He pulls onto the highway and his dad leans forward in the back seat. “This isn’t the way we used to go.”</p>
<p>“That’s because they built a new highway last summer, I told you that.” He’d mentioned it at least twice. He frowns to himself, with his family it’s impossible to tell if they’re forgetful or just not paying attention.</p>
<p>“Oh, right, you said.” He studies his dad in the mirror for a second until he’s forced to look back at the road. He’s older, the black is gone from his hair, his face has more lines than before. He’ll be 78 in a couple of months. Maybe he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Stevie he wanted to step back from the motels. “It’s been so long since we’ve been back here, I’m sure a lot has changed.”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. Maybe not as much as you’d think.” Have things changed? There’s the new highway and the new condos where Mr Orson’s pig farm used to be, a vast improvement in his mind. But the town is still the same, with the same collection of businesses and...oh god, he’s not a visitor here anymore. He knows this town better than he ever imagined.</p>
<p>“And you’re still happy here?” It’s as though his dad is reading his mind, his tone is just on the right side of incredulous. “It’s been five years. You don’t have to stay here just because of a decision you made so long ago. You’re always welcome in LA.”</p>
<p>“Oh John, David has made his misdecision and now he must learn to live with it.” How is Patrick taking this conversation? In the rearview mirror, his husband grins at him and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“We’re still very happy here, thanks so much.” Patrick would hate LA and they’ve made plans to stay here, plans he very much wants to bring to fruition, plans they can’t accomplish from California.</p>
<p>“If you’re sure. I’d forgotten how...rural it is here.” It’s been two years since his parents have visited. He and Patrick have been to New York and LA several times, but his mom’s reluctance to return to Schitt’s Creek keeps them away.</p>
<p>“Yes John, it’s positively pastoral.” His mom waves at the window as the farms and trees flash by.</p>
<p>“If you must know, we’re working on some expansion plans for the store.” He hints at his and Patrick’s plans even knowing it will give his dad an opening to talk business, letting him share advice that’s fifteen years out of date. Suddenly, he appreciates Stevie’s decision to take full control of the Rosebud.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s splendid news. I hope you’re finally planning to bring in some more affordable items. You know, not everyone can afford to pay eight dollars for a bar of soap.”</p>
<p>The soap they carry retails for ten dollars and they can’t keep it in stock. “No, that’s not at all what we’re planning.”</p>
<p>Before he can share the plans he and Patrick are working on, his mom yanks the conversation in a new direction. “Now David, if I may impart some perspicacity regarding your recent parliamentary foray.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see how I can stop you.” He’d known this was coming. Even though she’s angry with him, his mom wouldn’t miss this opportunity.</p>
<p>“You must remember to treat every performance as though it might be your last. My career as a town councilperson came to such an unceremonious end that no one even recalled it happening. You must enunciate. You know you have a tendency to mumble, dear. And don’t be afraid to go off-book, the reviews will tell you if you’ve made the right decision.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m not going to worry about any of that.” David puts on his turn signal, relieved to see the exit for Schitt’s Creek. They’re almost at the town limits when a collection of cars on the side of the road makes him slow to a crawl.</p>
<p>“What’s going on, David?” Alexis leans forward to peer out the front windshield, squishing into Patrick.</p>
<p>“How should I know, Alexis?” He slows to a near stop as a group of people dash across the road in front of them.</p>
<p>Patrick gives a wheezing chortling snicker from the back seat. “The town sign...”</p>
<p>There’s a gap in the cars and dozens of people are lined up to take their turn posing in front of the town sign. “Oh my god.” When Roland had first repainted the sign, he’d tried everything to get it changed without success. Now, he mostly pretends it doesn’t exist.</p>
<p>“David, stop the car.” Reflexively, he brings the car to an abrupt halt. His mom arranges her outfit carefully and steps out of the car.</p>
<p>“Hello, you.” She spread her arms; royalty welcoming her subjects. A low shriek goes up from the crowd and David wants to bang his head against the steering wheel. Behind him, Patrick makes strangled, choking noises as he smothers his laughter. “How fortuitous that I stumbled upon this locale as you were preparing to celebrate me.”</p>
<p>All they can do is watch as his mom poses for numerous selfies and scribbles autographs on everything from scraps of paper to one woman’s chest. It’s nearly thirty minutes later when his mom finally gets back in the car, her eyes lit up with the adulation of her fans. “David, why have we been lollygagging here for so long?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. You tell me.” He starts the car and drives away before his mom changes her mind.</p>
<p>“What a glorious reception to celebrate our return.” His mom beams happily as they drive away. “I can only hope our revisitation is similarly lauded by the local denizens.”</p>
<p>At the motel, Stevie’s car sits in its usual spot. David eyes it uneasily exchanging a worried look with Patrick. Stevie knew his parents were checking in today, why hadn’t she taken the day off? He clenches his hands into fists as they follow his parents out of the car and into the lobby.</p>
<p>Stevie looks up from her laptop as the door opens. “Welcome to the original Rosebud Motel.” There’s just enough of an inflection in her voice that someone might make a joke. If they were so inclined.</p>
<p>“Oh Stevie, are you still here?” His mom approaches the counter, the full force of her personality leading the way. “I thought you might be off on a tropical escapade, enjoying the ill-gotten gains that you derived at our expense.”</p>
<p>There’s a lengthy pause before Patrick says, “Okay.” The word is low and drawn out. David grasps his arm to prevent him from drawing his mom’s attention. Neither he nor Patrick need to be in the line of fire right now.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I would call them ill-gotten.” Stevie responds before Patrick says anything further as she slides a key across the desk. “I have you in our newly upgraded presidential suite.”</p>
<p>“Well, finally, this motel is keeping us in the sumptuousness that we deserve.” His mom’s eyes are locked on Stevie. She doesn’t pick up the key.</p>
<p>“Yes, if the room had been upgraded when you lived here you might not have wanted to leave.” He should have waited in the car, out of range of whatever throwdown his mom and Stevie are about to engage in.</p>
<p>“It is unfortunate when someone you trust attempts to drag you back into peruny.” His mom’s words are hard enough to cut through stone.</p>
<p>“Okay, Moira, I think that’s about enough.” His dad reaches around her for the key. “Stevie did what she thought was best and I’m looking forward to passing off some of my responsibilities to her.”</p>
<p>“As you wish, John. Let us visit this presidential suite and see if it is in fact good enough for the president of the local Chamber or Commerce.” His mom sweeps from the lobby, leaving the rest of them to trail in her wake.</p>
<p>As he follows his parents out the door, Patrick mutters to Stevie. “That went well.”</p>
<p>Stevie grins at them as he looks back over his shoulder to close the door. “At least no one died.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Something is ringing.</p>
<p>Patrick claws his way awake, fumbling for his phone on the bedside table. He knocks his wallet on the floor and narrowly misses tipping over a glass of water before he checks the display and answers the call. “Stevie? What’s going on? Moira didn’t burn down the motel as revenge, did she?”</p>
<p>“Patrick.” Stevie’s voice is quiet and her words make his heart leap into his throat. “There <em>was</em> a fire.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, are you okay?” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, groping in the space between the bed and his nightstand for his wallet. Beside him, David sits up with a groan and flips on the light.</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” Stevie sucks in a breath and if he didn’t know her better, he’d say it was a sob. “It’s my apartment. They say I need to find somewhere to stay.”</p>
<p>“I’ll come get you.” He’s out of bed, wallet in one hand as he searches for his jeans, finding them where they’d landed in a pile by the chair the night before. The t-shirt and boxers he’s wearing will have to do. He sets his wallet on the dresser beside his keys, switching the phone to the other hand as he shakes out the jeans.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Her voice cracks for a second before she’s able to cover it up.</p>
<p>“I’m sure. I’ll be right there.” He pulls on his jeans one-handed, swearing as they catch on his hips. His mother-in-law wouldn’t...he’s pretty sure...he asks anyway. “Stevie...it wasn’t Moira, was it?”</p>
<p>There’s a shaky laugh. “Not unless she’s responsible for faulty wiring.”</p>
<p>“Thank god. Don’t move, I’m on my way.” He hobbles to the closet, jeans catching around his legs and grabs a hoodie off the shelf.</p>
<p>He ends the call and tosses the phone on the bed, zipping up his pants and pulling on the sweatshirt. David yawns and rubs a hand through his hair. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“There was a fire at Stevie’s building. I’m going to go get her.” He shoves his phone and wallet in his pocket, grabbing up his keys.</p>
<p>David’s eyes are wide in the low light of the single lamp. “I’ll make up the spare room.” He struggles out of the blankets, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>Patrick takes the extra time to kiss him, pulling back just far enough to tip their foreheads together. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you too.” David’s hands squeeze his hips, a quick touch that reassures both of them, and then Patrick’s running, taking the stairs two at a time.</p>
<p>Stevie lives on the other side of town, which is a perpetual source of annoyance for David, particularly after they’ve been drinking and he has to call Patrick to come get him. Patrick drives as fast as possible, grateful for the lack of stoplights. He comes to an incomplete rolling stop at the town’s only stop sign, before speeding just over the speed limit through the quiet streets to Stevie’s building.</p>
<p>He’s two blocks away when the flashing white and red lights of the fire trucks glance off the wet pavement and the scent of smoke fills the air. He pulls into the parking lot, taking care to avoid the emergency vehicles, and gets out of the car, searching for Stevie. A lone figure disentangles itself from the shadows and runs towards him. Stevie’s white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants can’t be warm enough for the night air. Without thinking, he holds his arms out for a hug and she hurls herself at him.  </p>
<p>He holds her tightly, she’s shaking, from tears or the cold, he’s not sure. “Sorry. I’m such a mess.” His shoulder muffles Stevie’s words.</p>
<p>“I think it’s allowed.” She and David are so similar sometimes it’s unbearable. Years of patience have broken down David’s walls but Stevie is still a master of deflection. After a lengthy hug, she steps back and punches him in the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell David. Or anyone else.” Tears track down her face and he digs in the pocket of his hoodie for a Kleenex.</p>
<p>He hands the crumpled tissue to her. “Sorry, I’m not very well prepared. Most of the people in my life are allergic to feelings.”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” The joke works and a grin spreads across her face as she dabs the tissue across her cheeks. “Can we get out of here?” Stevie rubs her arms, shivering in the cool night air.</p>
<p>The brick building looms over them as they walk to the car. There’s no noticeable damage from the outside, just the water from the fire trucks. “How bad is it?”</p>
<p>Stevie waits until they’re in the car to answer his question. She turns the heat on as soon as he starts the engine, wrapping her arms around herself. “I only had some smoke damage. But they think the wiring is shot. I can come back tomorrow to get some things.”</p>
<p>He nods, taking the same route back home. “You can stay with us as long as you need to.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” It’s an acknowledgement, not agreement and he glances sideways at her, but she’s staring out the window away from him.</p>
<p>He pulls into their driveway and the front door opens before he’s turned off the car. David would never admit to running, but he hurries to the car, making it to Stevie’s door before she opens it.</p>
<p>“You’ve been roaming the streets in this ensemble?” David gestures to Stevie’s clothes.</p>
<p>Patrick eyes Stevie uneasily, mindful of her earlier tears, but her shoulders relax and she snipes back at David. “My leather mini-skirt was in the wash.”</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes at the pair of them, Patrick follows them into the house, neither of them commenting as David wraps an arm around Stevie’s shoulders and pulls her close.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint stands in the middle of the creek, regretting everything about how this day has unfolded. Sweat makes his hip waders cling uncomfortably to his legs. Next to him, Johnny is similarly attired, the waders he’d borrowed from Patrick are tight and loose in all the wrong places. He must be terribly uncomfortable, but he hasn’t complained.</p>
<p>Patrick called at eight o’clock to tell him about Stevie’s apartment. The original plan had been for Patrick and Clint to take Johnny and David fishing but now it’s just the two of them. It’s not that he doesn’t like Johnny. He does. It’s just that they’ve talked about the weather and Johnny and Moira’s plane trip and the weather in California and he’s rapidly running out of things to say. Johnny attempts to cast his fishing line again, snagging the trees over their heads for the third time.</p>
<p>“This fishing rod is trickier than the one I remember from when I was a boy.” Johnny yanks on the line, sending a cascade of leaves into the stream and undoubtedly scaring every fish for miles.</p>
<p>“You need to let it glide across the water, not throw it up in the air.”</p>
<p>“Oh, is that right?” Johnny pulls on the line again and more leaves and twigs fall around them as his line comes free. “Let me try this again.”</p>
<p>Clint ducks as Johnny’s back cast comes a little too close for comfort. “So, you must be very proud of David.”</p>
<p>“Sure, sure, of course. I’m always proud of my son.” Johnny’s line drifts downstream, narrowly missing a submerged log. “Uh, for what, exactly?”</p>
<p>“For getting elected to Council.” Now that Johnny’s line has drifted far enough away he judges that it might be safe to make his own cast.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” Johnny lights up. “We were surprised, David’s never shown much interest before and I didn’t think that the townspeople felt so highly of him.” Johnny’s line has floated well past them, the line playing out on the reel with a soft buzz.</p>
<p>“I don’t think David realizes how many people in this town respect him. And Patrick too.” He’s so proud of who Patrick’s become, surely Johnny must be just as proud of David. Johnny raises a curious eyebrow at him as he busies himself by frantically reeling in his over-extended fishing line. “They’ve built something here, on their own.”</p>
<p>Johnny finishes reeling in his line, but instead of casting again he just holds the rod awkwardly in his hands. “There was a time when we didn’t trust him to do things on his own.” Johnny shrugs. “We didn’t want him to fail. And we had the money to make sure he didn’t need to.”</p>
<p>It’s the first time Johnny’s spoken so candidly about his relationship with David. He’s pieced things together from the bits David and Patrick have said but nothing more. “Well, Marcy and I were so busy creating a cage of expectations for Patrick that we forgot to tell him to figure out who he was.” Clint reels in his own line, there’s probably no chance of catching a fish now. “They don’t tell you how hard it is sometimes, trusting your kid.”</p>
<p>“No, they don’t.” Johnny claps him on the back as they make their way out of the creek. “That’s definitely something you have to figure out on your own.” </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick loves Moira, he really does. He loves the way she’s so similar to David, the way she refuses to compromise, the way she lives her life out loud. But. Like David, there are times when her selfishness is too much to bear. And unlike David, sometimes he’s less willing to put up with it.</p>
<p>Which is why he finds himself knocking on the door of the suite at the motel at nine thirty in the morning. Johnny is fishing with his dad and David and Stevie are still sleeping after the trauma of the night before, leaving Patrick at loose ends and something on his mind. He knocks again.</p>
<p>“Patrick! How delightfully unexpected!” Moira steps aside so he can enter the room. The upgrades are beautiful, sleek and modern, a vast change from the Rose family’s tenure. </p>
<p>“Is this a good time?” He doesn’t care if it’s a good time, not really, but it’s best to start on the right foot.</p>
<p>“Of course, this is the perfect opportunity for a chinwag, just the two of us. I’m expecting your madre shortly to squire us to the fan convention.” Moira waves him to a chair at the breakfast table, the Queen uses a less fulsome gesture. “What brings you to my abode this morning?”</p>
<p>“Here’s the thing.” He clenches his jaw, just for a second, putting the words in order, not entirely sure how this will be received. “I need you to stop blaming David for what Stevie did.” He’d rather Moira forgave both of them, but David is always his top priority.</p>
<p>Moira’s face stiffens and her leather-gloved hands clench on the tabletop. “Surely, David can wage his own battles without you to intercede.”</p>
<p>“He can.” If this were an ordinary Rose family squabble, he’d let them resolve it on their own. But it’s been almost a month and David is unhappy. He wants to shout at his mother-in-law, but that will generate unpredictable results at best. “Here’s the thing. David’s unhappiness is making me unhappy.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Patrick, dear. Why didn’t you say something sooner? We all know how David lashes out when he’s uncomfortable.” That wasn’t at all what he meant, but it might have to do. </p>
<p>“Sure. David would never say anything, and I know you don’t need to be asked.” He tilts his head in what he hopes is a beseeching manner. Manipulating Moira is like trying to lift the Parthenon Marbles, flattery is always the better option. “So if you could just…” </p>
<p>“Naturally, I would be happy to consign that cleaver to the grave.”</p>
<p>“Great.” Hopefully those words mean what he thinks they mean. “Before you leave town, perhaps?”</p>
<p>Moira sighs begrudgingly. “Very well. I shall endeavor to engage David in discourse in the next few days.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” He smiles at her, it’s only marginally forced. </p>
<p>“Now, Patrick. You must tell me. How is the theatre troupe getting along in my absence? Jocelyn assures me that everything is fine, but I can’t see how that could be the case.” Patrick smothers his smile and settles in to tell Moira what she really wants to know, sharing details about Jocelyn’s struggles directing the community theatre’s production of Rent. </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Marcy pulls up to the motel fifteen minutes early. She’s still a bit confused as to how this day has come about. Everyone, from David to Patrick to Alexis and Moira had assumed she’d be happy to accompany Moira to the second day of the fan convention. So here she is, preparing to drive Moira and Alexis to Elmdale. But she wants a word with Moira first.</p>
<p>Before she can knock on the door to Moira’s room, it springs open, revealing her son in the doorway.</p>
<p>Moira’s voice floats out to her from the back of the room. “Now Patrick, you let me know if you need any assistance with your footwork, I would happily arrange some exclusive tutelage.” </p>
<p>“Oh that’s not necessary—” Patrick turns to step through the door, he startles when he sees her standing on the sidewalk in front of the open door. “Mom!”</p>
<p>“Hi honey.” She gives Patrick a quick hug. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”</p>
<p>Patrick shakes his head. “I was just leaving. Moira, thanks for doing me that favor.”</p>
<p>“Any time, dear.” Moira waves at her from the back of the room, shoulder length blond ringlets frame her face and her outfit is reminiscent of Joan of Arc leading her troops into battle. “Welcome you.” Moira gestures to a nearby chair. “Am I mistaken or is your arrival somewhat in advance of the time we agreed upon?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m early.” Marcy sits on the edge of the seat and forces her fingers to relax on her handbag. “I wanted to talk to you about Stevie and David.”</p>
<p>Moira pauses, her head tilted slightly and her eyes narrowed. “You and your son are very much alike.”</p>
<p>“Thank you?” She’s not sure it’s a compliment. “So, I know I shouldn’t interfere, but I just wanted to ask if you might see your way to forgiv—”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes.” Moira cuts her off. “I will talk to Stevie. And to David. Is there anyone else on your docket that I should make amends with?”</p>
<p>“Um...no, no. That’s it.” An awkward silence falls over the room and Marcy stares at the adjoining door to Alexis’s room, wishing desperately for David’s sister to come into the room. The door remains stubbornly closed. </p>
<p>“You’re very lucky, you know.” Moira waves her to silence before she can respond. “You’ve had years of practice talking to your son. David was much easier to talk to when he was a bebe.”</p>
<p>This moment of reflection seems highly out of character for Moira. What had Patrick said to his mother-in-law? Marcy shakes her head, rejecting the other woman’s words. “Moira. Patrick will tell you that I get it wrong all the time. But you just have to keep trying.” </p>
<p>Before she can say anything further, the door to Alexis’s room finally bursts open. “Oh my god, what are you two doing just sitting around? We’re going to be late.” Alexis hustles them towards the door, leaving Marcy to mull over her conversation with Moira on the drive to Elmdale.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“I’m going to have to move.” Stevie stands silhouetted against the window in their living room hands on her hips. Patrick had driven her back to her apartment building that morning only to discover that the entire building would likely be uninhabitable for months, probably longer. She’d picked up a change of clothes and some personal items but everything else will have to wait.</p>
<p>“You can stay as long as you need.” He and David have been sitting on the couch for the past half an hour, as Stevie paces across the room, trying to figure out what to do next.</p>
<p>“I can’t just move in here. I know what you two get up to when you think no one can hear you.” David grips his shoulder and his cheeks grow hot. He has no desire to return to the days of having a long-term roommate who interrupts unexpectedly.</p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s what we were offering.” Beside him on the couch, David drops his hand to twist his rings as Stevie strides back and forth.</p>
<p>“Maybe this is a sign.” Stevie stops in front of them. “Maybe I should move to New York and spend more time at the corporate office.”</p>
<p>Beside him, David stiffens. Patrick puts a hand on his leg to stop his protest. “Is that where you want to live?”</p>
<p>“No. But.” Stevie looks around helplessly. “All the other apartment buildings in town have wait lists. What am I going to do? Buy a house? ”</p>
<p>“I mean, you could—” Patrick trails off as Stevie interrupts him.</p>
<p>“I can’t own a house. You have to look after them and mow the lawn and stuff.” Stevie perches on the edge of the loveseat, like an agitated house sparrow.</p>
<p>“I don’t do any of that.” David pushes aside her objections as though their house maintains itself.</p>
<p>“No, but Patrick does.” Stevie gestures at him knowingly, years of maintaining the motel have probably stripped away her illusions about home ownership.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I draw the line at mowing your lawn.” David and Stevie both scowl at his attempted humor.</p>
<p>Stevie moves again. “Plus, I’m only here half the time. I need somewhere where no one will notice if I don’t check the mail for a week.”</p>
<p>“You literally own a motel chain. Why do you even need a house?” David offers as Stevie stops to take a breath.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I could just move into your old room. We’ve upgraded it now, but it would be just like old times.” Stevie’s eyes are getting wild and her sarcasm is out in full force.</p>
<p>“We’ll help you with whatever you decide. Wait—” A sudden thought occurs to him. “What about the carriage house?”</p>
<p>“The what?” Stevie frowns at him, but she stops pacing.</p>
<p>The carriage house sits at the back of the garden. It had been a garage once and judging by the decor, a previous owner had converted it to a small suite in the 1980s. David had taken one look at it when they’d moved in and declared that it wasn’t even suitable for guests until they did some upgrades. Upgrades that were still well down the list of things they wanted to change about the house. So, they’ve been using it for storage ever since.</p>
<p>“She can’t stay there. The walls are like, dusty rose.” David shudders. “With matching carpet.”</p>
<p>“Come look. And then we can talk about it.” Patrick grabs the spare keys off the hook in the kitchen and they troop through the garden, Mariah at their heels. The facade of the tiny stone building is a replica of their house. Patrick pulls open the French doors. When had he last been out here? Two months ago, maybe? When he was looking for the box of things he’d brought back from his parents after they’d moved here.</p>
<p>A musty, unused scent greets them, but he leaves the door ajar and opens the curtains. It’s not as bad as he remembers. It’s small, a lot smaller than his old apartment and the walls and floor are an off-putting pink color but it has some potential. He tries to look past the disorganized piles of boxes that are stacked haphazardly to see it through Stevie’s eyes. “It needs some work…”</p>
<p>“More than some work.” David screws up his face as he stands in the tiny kitchen. With its half-sized fridge and two-burner stovetop, it’s almost doll-sized, but Stevie doesn’t cook much anyway.</p>
<p>“David. We’re trying to find Stevie a place to stay, not make her feel like she’s signing up for the ‘before’ segment on The Property Brothers.”</p>
<p>“You said it, not me.” David opens the upper cupboards, grimacing before closing the doors with a sharp snap.</p>
<p>Stevie still hasn’t said anything. Patrick frowns at her as she examines the kitchen and the tiny bathroom. Stevie crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe, her brow furrowed and her eyes pensive. “This could work until I find something else.”</p>
<p>Patrick bites his lip and leans against the kitchen counter, mimicking her stance. “What if...what if you just moved in permanently?” Is it weird to have your husband’s best friend move into your extra suite? It’s probably weird. But it feels right. Oh. What if David doesn’t feel the same way? But David’s nodding, a slight smile on his face.</p>
<p>“I can’t just take advantage of our friendship. If working with your dad has taught me anything, it’s the importance of paperwork. What if we end up hating each other?”</p>
<p>This won’t end badly, but she’s not wrong. “Firstly, we won’t end up hating each other. And secondly, you pay for the renos, however you want them—”</p>
<p>“Subject to my approval.” While he and Stevie were talking, David had wandered over to the front window, he flicks the curtains with his finger, releasing a puff of dust.</p>
<p>“Subject to David’s approval. And we waive the rent in exchange. I can get my dad to write an agreement to make it legal.”</p>
<p>Stevie stares sightlessly out the tiny window over the sink, trying to hide the sheen of tears in her eyes. It’s twice in two days that she’s cried in front of him and he’s not sure he likes it.</p>
<p>“This is stupid. Why am I getting all emotional over the ugliest fucking room I’ve ever seen?” Stevie waves her hand at the walls, but when Patrick opens his arms for a hug she goes willingly, David joining them moments later.</p>
<p>“That’s not true.” David mumbles the words into the top of Stevie’s head. “The rooms at the motel used to be way uglier.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The Elmdale convention hall is packed with people. A sea of Sunrise Bay logos and Moira Rose t-shirts stretch in every direction. Marcy follows Alexis as she fights her way through the crowd, but autograph seekers stop them every few feet with photos and programs for Moira to sign.</p>
<p>“Moira!” Jocelyn fights her way through the crowd, a clipboard in one hand, an overly sunny smile plastered on her face. Marcy slaps an equally fake grimace on her own face.</p>
<p>“Jocelyn, how fortuitous to see you.” Moira and Jocelyn exchange air kisses before Jocelyn and Alexis hug each other properly. Jocelyn nods at her, her arms remain firmly by her sides.</p>
<p>“Marcy.”</p>
<p>“Jocelyn.” She nods back at the other woman.</p>
<p>“Isn’t this amazing? And we have nearly two hundred people registered for the 5th Annual Moira Rose Benefit for the General And Specific Beautification of Schitt’s Creek tomorrow night. You know, Moira, it would be great if you put in an appearance. We’re having a look-alike competition and it would be the perfect opportunity to surprise your fans.”</p>
<p>“Oh Jocelyn, I wouldn’t want to embarrass all the contestants who can never hope to come close to the real thing. No, it’s best I avoid your little soiree to preserve the sanctity of the fan experience.” Moira pushes her way through the crowd again, Jocelyn following behind her as Marcy and Alexis try to keep up.</p>
<p>“Are you sure? Because I think people would really enjoy it.” Jocelyn’s voice grates on Marcy’s ears. Thank goodness she doesn’t have to contend with both Jocelyn and Moira every day.</p>
<p>Marcy shakes her head at this exchange. It’s like a medieval duel, filled with thrusts and parries. Alexis tugs on her arm and whispers in her ear. “Jocelyn is the only person who can get my mom to do anything without a contract. Watch.”</p>
<p>“No, I must put my foot down and refuse to take in your mimicry showcase.” Moira stops, showing off her best side as a fan snaps a photo.</p>
<p>“Okay, Moira. It’s just that I know that your presence will give your fans a standard to look up to that they wouldn’t otherwise achieve.”</p>
<p>Flattery is always the key to unlocking Moira and she stops and turns back to Jocelyn. “Oh very well, if I must provide an example, that I will do what I can. But only for fifteen minutes. No longer.”</p>
<p>“Great. Eight o’clock tomorrow night. Don’t be late.” Jocelyn makes a note on her clipboard before the crowd swallows her up again. They make their way to the entrance to one of the breakout rooms and Alexis waves their passes at the person at the door. Inside, a few clusters of people linger in conversation. Alexis ushers them towards a competent-looking woman at the front of the room. Marcy follows in her and Moira’s wake, doing her best to stay out of the way.</p>
<p>“Moira.” The woman holds out her arms and more air kisses are exchanged. “We’ll get started in a few minutes, but I have you at the front of the table.” The woman gestures to the banquet table on the small stage. “Make yourself comfortable.”</p>
<p>“C’mon.” Alexis grabs Marcy’s arm and guides her to two seats midway down the aisle of the theatre-style seating. “We can get a good view from here.”</p>
<p>More people trickle in, two others make their way to sit beside Moira. “That’s Ashley Cooper. She used to be on Sunrise Bay but One Love at a Time offered her more money. But, I hear she hates it there and the director is a total monster.” An attractive brunette in her early 30s takes the chair beside Moira’s. “And that’s Brittnay— oh my god, Clifton Sparks.” Alexis is out of her chair and stalking towards the stage before Marcy responds. Not that she knows what to say. Or who Clifton Sparks is.</p>
<p>At the front of the room, Alexis taps on a page in her portfolio as she’s engages in an animated discussion with the organizer as a slightly unsteady grey-haired man looks on. The seats are about half full now and more people file into the room. “I cannot believe they invited Clifton Sparks.” Alexis takes her seat again. “I got him moved to a different panel, but still. Everyone knows that’s not acceptable.” It’s easy for Marcy to forget what a force of nature Alexis is until she’s in her natural environment, taking down event organizers and managing Moira’s schedule.</p>
<p>The panel gets underway with the moderator asking increasingly detailed questions about costuming and plot points. It’s a convoluted web of characters and stories that makes Marcy’s head spin. She’s only watched the show once, out of solidarity to Moira, but the intricate plot lines were confounding and she’d never gone back to it. Listening to Moira’s answers does nothing to clear up her confusion.  </p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?” Alexis keeps her voice low. On stage, Moira gives a lengthy answer about being trapped in a crystal.</p>
<p>Marcy tilts her head towards Alexis, keeping her voice as low as possible. “Of course, dear.”</p>
<p>“You and Clint have, like, a normal relationship, right? You didn’t meet while one of you was being held captive by pirates or have to escape a Ugandan drug compound or on the red carpet for the premiere of one of the Twilight movies?”</p>
<p>Sensing Alexis has something else on her mind, Marcy resists the urge to ask any of the dozens of follow-up questions that go through her mind. “No, none of that. We met in high school, actually.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Alexis plays with one of her earrings. “But, like, did you ever break up for a really long time and then get back together?”</p>
<p>“We did, actually.” Moira has stopped talking about the crystal and is now talking about being held prisoner in a cave. “I’m a year older so we broke up when I went to university. I always assumed he’d come to Western and we’d get back together, but he went to Guelph instead.”</p>
<p>“And now you’ve been married for what, like, fifty years?” Alexis makes it sound like an eternity.</p>
<p>“Closer to forty, but yes.” Saying it out loud makes the years stretch out even further.</p>
<p>“So how did you know that you should get back into it?” Alexis grips the edge of the black leather portfolio she’s holding in her lap.</p>
<p>Marcy chuckles. “You never know for sure, dear. When you love someone you just take the chance and do your best to make it work.” It’s easy now, to look back and see all the ways everything went right. At the time she’d been scared and frustrated that Clint might not want the same things.</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm. I’ve been seeing Ted.” Alexis pauses, her eyes focused on the stage. “I don’t think I could bear it if we tried again and it didn’t work out.” Marcy pats Alexis’s arm, Patrick had told her how hard it had been when Alexis and Ted had chosen to go their separate ways. She’s not surprised to hear they’re back together.</p>
<p>She’d nearly walked away from Clint once. It was her sister who had convinced her to give him a second chance. “Can you bear it if you don’t try?”</p>
<p>“...and then I was betrayed by my own daughter.” A wave of applause follows Moira’s words.</p>
<p>Alexis leans over the squeeze Marcy’s arm. “Thanks. You’re very easy to talk to.”</p>
<p>Marcy’s not sure Patrick would always agree but she settles back in her seat as the moderator asks the next question. “Which is your favorite demon possession and why?”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint settles behind his desk at Ray’s and pulls out his knitting. Word is slowly getting around that he’s available to give legal advice although Jocelyn’s suggestion that he’s answering relationship questions has traveled faster and further. Last week, he’d turned away both Robin and Gwen before they shared too many details of their sex lives.</p>
<p>Ray is out for the afternoon, doing a showing for the old mine on Route 8 (the perfect opportunity to understand local history). He checks his pattern. He’s attempting a shawl for Marcy’s Christmas present and the stitches are more intricate than anything he’s tried before. The door bangs open. </p>
<p>“Jake.” Clint resists the urge to shove his knitting out of sight as Jake prowls towards him. “Wha— Why, why are you here?” He’s seen Jake around town but thankfully he hasn’t spoken to him since the night at the bar with Patrick. For the most part, he’s been able to pretend that Jake, and his penchant for whiskey, doesn’t exist.</p>
<p>“Clint. Hey.” Jake slinks into the chair in front of his desk, lounging in it in a manner that takes up more space than seems possible. “I heard you were helping people with problems.” </p>
<p>Oh. Oh no. He absolutely does not want to hear what Jake is about to say next. He sets the knitting down and folds his hands together, trying to look professional. And lawyerly. “I’m not sure I’m the right person…”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Jake purses his lips and Clint can’t help but follow the movement. “It’s just, I was talking to Jocelyn about my problem and she said you could help me.”</p>
<p>Damnit, Jocelyn. Marcy was right, Jocelyn is nothing but trouble. “Did she?” Why is his voice so pitchy? There must be someone else Jake can talk to. Anyone else. Ray. Or Bob. Or even Roland. Surely one of them would have good advice.</p>
<p>“You see, there’s this guy in Thornbridge…” Oh god. Well. At least it’s not someone he knows. Probably. </p>
<p>“Are you sure I’m the right person for this?” Frantically, he searches for a way out. He could fake a dentist appointment. Or a heart attack. Or maybe he could just slide under the desk and hide there until Jake goes away.</p>
<p>Jake frowns at him. “I don’t have a lot of money, so I can’t go to one of those fancy people in Elmdale.” Right. So recommending a professional therapist is out of the question. He grimaces at Jake, taking a deep breath as he nods at him to continue. “Anyway, he’s been stealing my models and selling them in his shop.”</p>
<p>“Your...models?” That Jake has models makes sense. It’s the only part that does. He stumbles over the selling part. Is Jake operating a sex trafficking ring? Maybe he should call the police? Jake hasn’t paid him, he’s not technically a client. </p>
<p>“Yeah, man, my furniture models.” Images of men and women reclining on handmade chairs flood Clint’s mind. Finally, Jake senses his confusion. “I do all my own designs and this other guy is stealing them and selling them in his shop.” Jake’s tone is even and almost uninterested, as though he could care less. But he must care, or he wouldn’t be here, asking for Clint’s help. </p>
<p>Clint wrestles his mind away from whiskey and women to focus on Jake’s problem. “Oh. <em>Oh.</em>” This is a problem he can actually help with. “Well, you have a couple of options…” He walks Jake through the choices before agreeing to draft a cease and desist letter for him to sign the next day. Maybe he’s jumped to conclusions about Jake. He runs a business, surely he must have other interests besides— </p>
<p>“Thanks, man.” Jake interrupts as he sinuously lifts himself out of the chair. He pauses just before he turns to leave, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Nice shawl, by the way. That color really brings out your lips.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David sits beside Ronnie at the front of the room, the chairs are uncomfortable and he can’t decide what to do with his hands. He folds them in his lap for the third time, looking away from the eyes staring back at him. On Ronnie’s other side, Roland calls the meeting to order. Why didn’t he think through the practical realities getting elected to Council? This is why he and Patrick make such a good team. He visualizes the beginning and the end and Patrick deals with the messy details in the middle. But, he’s in it now, there’s no way to back out.</p>
<p>A sea of people fills the ugly yellow chairs at the first Town Council meeting of the new term. To be fair, it’s less of a sea and more of a puddle. Ray sits in the front row, perched on the edge of his seat. Behind him, George from the cafe along with Dick Stinson and a group of women from the Senior’s Centre are scattered among the seats. From the very back row, Patrick winks at him, bolstering his confidence.</p>
<p>Roland bangs his gavel on the table. The gavel is clearly Roland’s favorite part of the meeting. David suspects it will quickly become his least favorite part. “First on the agenda, repairs to the Ronnie Lee Recreation Centre. We have a quote for $2300.”</p>
<p>Ronnie raises her hand. “That’s not in the budget, I vote we defer that item to next year.” It’s not very much money. David tries to remember the spreadsheet Ronnie had walked them through last week. Patrick would know. Patrick would be better at this than he is. Roland interrupts before he spirals.</p>
<p>“Dave—d?” Roland tacks the ‘d’ onto the end of his name at the last second. “Twyla?”</p>
<p>“Um, sure. I guess I agree with Ronnie.” The Rec Centre is mostly a hang out for bored teenagers anyway. Beside Roland, Twyla nods her agreement.</p>
<p>“Next up, trail maintenance at Roberts Point Park. We deferred this last month, do we want to defer it again?”</p>
<p>“Well, we still don’t have any money, so yeah.” Ronnie chimes in and Twyla agrees. In the audience, Patrick frowns, annoyance at not being able to hike in the park written across his face.</p>
<p>“I vote against. Deferring, that is. I vote we repair the trails.” Everyone else has already voted, so it’s not like it makes any difference.</p>
<p>“Okay, Dave votes against, but it’s 3-1 so you’re outvoted. Better luck next time.” Roland bangs the gavel again.</p>
<p>“Next up, street repairs.” Roland pulls a list out of the pile of papers in front of him. “We have complaints about potholes on Main Street, Elm Street, Maple Street, Ash Street and Spruce Street.”</p>
<p>“So, basically every street in town, then.” The entire town is falling apart. Once, he wouldn’t have cared, but now he discovers that he does mind, very much.</p>
<p>“Mrs Adamos says she nearly lost her poodle in the pothole on Elm Street. But we still don’t have any money, so I…”</p>
<p>“...vote we defer the repairs.” Several people in the audience repeat the words along with Ronnie.</p>
<p>“Can I ask a question?” He feels stupid, maybe the answer is obvious. He plows ahead anyway. “Why don’t we have any money?”</p>
<p>“We don’t have any money because we don’t have enough tax revenue to cover the things we need to spend it on.” Roland explains the obvious, he holds his gavel, ready to slam it onto the table.</p>
<p>“But why don’t we have enough tax revenue?” It’s a small town, but surely there should be money to fix holes in the streets.</p>
<p>There’s a lengthy pause and David worries he’s asked a wildly inappropriate question. Finally, Ronnie speaks up. “Because none of the properties owned or leased by your family are taxed. The motel, the undeveloped land, your store, even your house are all exempt. That was in the agreement that <em>somebody</em> signed when we sold the town.” Ronnie swings around to look at Roland.</p>
<p>“And, um, how do we fix that?” What’s the point of being on Council if they can’t fix what’s wrong with the town? Of course, he might need ten more terms to fix <em>everything</em> that’s wrong.</p>
<p>“The person who owns the town would have to agree to amend the agreement.” Ronnie raises an eyebrow at him, waiting as he puts the pieces together.</p>
<p>There’s an even longer pause as he stares incredulously at Ronnie. “And you never thought to ask?” </p>
<p>A lengthy silence greets his question before Roland bangs his gavel. “Okay folks, we’re going to take a quick break while we have a quick discussion about some unexpected Council business.”</p>
<p>Chatter breaks out in the room as Roland leans back in his chair. “Do you really think your dad will agree to this? He’s always seemed like a cheapskate to me.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t have to. Other than the motel, he signed over control of our ownership in the town to me when he left.” At the time, David had assumed it was born out of a desire from his parents to rid themselves of their connections to Schitt’s Creek. But maybe it’s time his family gave something back to the town.</p>
<p>“So you could just…” Ronnie waves her hand in the air.</p>
<p>“Well, my business manager might have an opinion.” In the audience, Patrick watches them curiously, his head tilted to one side and his left arm slung along the back of the chair next to him.</p>
<p>Ronnie frowns at that, but it’s probably because of her dislike of Patrick rather than any concern that Patrick won’t go along with the change. “Okay, we won’t figure this out today.” Ronnie gestures to the agenda. “Let’s postpone all the financial decisions until next month.” David nods. How do these things work? It’s not like he’s going to write a check on the spot.</p>
<p>Roland bangs his gavel again and calls the meeting to order. “Next on the agenda, we have a proposal from Ray to rename Main Street as Moira Rose Boulevard.”</p>
<p>“I’m in favor.” Twyla pipes up from the far end of the table. “Moira is the only celebrity we’ve ever had. Well, except for my mom’s ex-boyfriend’s sister, who said she met Kirk Douglas once.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Ronnie waves a hand in the air. “It might bring in a few more of those annoying tourists.”</p>
<p>“David?” He’s conflicted. On the one hand, there’s nothing he wants less than to have his mom’s name on the street his store is on. But on the other, he knows it would annoy his mom to no end to be reminded of her forced sojourn in this town. He chews on his cheek. In the audience, Patrick grins at him, enjoying his dilemma. Still, things are already rocky enough with his mom he doesn’t need to make things worse.</p>
<p>“Opposed.” At least he can tell his mom he voted against it.</p>
<p>“And I’m in favor. The motion passes 3-1.” Roland bangs the gavel, the sound echoes through the room.</p>
<p>In the front row, Ray claps his hands together and beams at them. “You won’t regret this.” It’s a lie. David already regrets it.</p>
<p>The rest of the meeting passes tediously and uneventfully. David gathers up his agenda and other papers and tucks them into his portfolio. Ronnie pulls out her phone and hands it to him. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>Ronnie just shrugs, an amused gleam in her eyes. “Thought you might want to expand your horizons.”</p>
<p>“My horizons are plenty expanded.” He looks down at the phone. Instead of the usual Buffy fanfic, he reads, “Vivian Blake and Trystan Abbott reunite at Sunrise General. Sparks fly but can their love be rekindled?”</p>
<p>A full body shudder that runs through him as he thrusts the phone back at Ronnie. “No. Nope. You’ve gone too far.”</p>
<p>“What’s gone too far?” Patrick comes up beside them, nodding curtly at Ronnie and sliding his arm around David’s waist.</p>
<p>“Ronnie’s making me read fanfic about my mom.” Revulsion runs through him at the thought.</p>
<p>Patrick chuckles, exchanging an amused glance with Ronnie before both of them realize and they look away. “It’s not about your mom, it’s about Vivian Blake.”</p>
<p>David cringes, remembering the hours his mom had spent in character, making him run lines or just lounging around at home, claiming she was a method actor. “Same thing.”</p>
<p>Ronnie cackles and turns away. Without question she’ll send him more links to stories about Sunrise Bay. Patrick kisses him on the cheek. “I’m glad to see your first act on Council was to completely mess up my budget projections for the year.”</p>
<p>“Are you mad? It seemed like the right thing to do.” Patrick will have to run the numbers through one of his spreadsheets, but the tax bill won’t hurt their business too badly. </p>
<p>Patrick’s hand rubs up his back and he leans into it. “I’m not mad and it was the right thing to do. And if the potholes get fixed, there will be more traffic to the store.” Patrick squeezes the back of his neck. “I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p>He shakes off the compliment. “I don’t know why. I’m not doing anything that Roland can’t do.” It’s frustrating that Roland is better at this than he is. Still, thirty years of practice are bound to make even Roland good at mayoring.</p>
<p>“Let’s go home, I bought cheesecake to celebrate your first Council meeting.”</p>
<p>“Did you know you’re my favorite husband?”</p>
<p>Patrick snorts, the grip on the back of David’s neck tightens. “Good to know, I worried I might fall out of contention.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>It’s Wednesday, so Marcy is at the cafe at seven o’clock in the morning, waiting for Patrick. She’d resented the regular schedule at first, but now it’s a private oasis of time that they’ve carved out for the two of them.</p>
<p>Patrick’s whistling precedes him around the corner, Mariah trots at his side. The little dog pulls at the end of her leash, her entire body wiggling in her excitement. When they get close enough, Mariah jumps up, her paws on the edge of the chair for scratches. Patrick hands over the leash and goes inside to get his usual tea and Marcy picks Mariah up into her lap. She’s still there, licking Marcy’s face when Patrick comes back out, a cup of tea and a bowl of water in hand. Mariah hops off her lap for a drink of water while Marcy waits as Patrick secures her leash.</p>
<p>“I drove by Stevie’s building yesterday and everything was boarded up. Is she going to be okay?”</p>
<p>Patrick’s face turns sombre, but he nods. “She was pretty shaken up but she says she’s okay. Not that she’d say anything if she wasn’t.”</p>
<p>“Well, if she needs a place to stay, or anything, all she has to do is ask.” The air is still cool, the sun hasn’t hit the front of the cafe yet. Marcy wraps her icy fingers around her coffee mug, the warmth soaks into her hands.</p>
<p>“Actually…” Uncertainty creases Patrick’s face, like he’s not sure how she’ll react. “Ronnie’s coming over today to do some renos on the carriage house so Stevie can move in.” He toys with the string from his tea bag, wrapping it around his finger.</p>
<p>It’s a little unconventional, having your best friend live in your back garden, but Stevie already spends so much time at David and Patrick’s house that she might as well live there. “How will we tell the difference?”</p>
<p>“Very funny.” He grins at her and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “How was the fan convention?”</p>
<p>“Well, Jocelyn was there.” Patrick raises an eyebrow, she feels about Jocelyn the way Ronnie feels about him. She’s not sure why Jocelyn gets to her, but something about her perky, pink attitude just rubs her the wrong way. “And I had a lovely conversation with Alexis.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Patrick takes a sip of his tea, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Marcy’s not sure how much she should say about what Alexis had told her, but Patrick won’t say anything. “I think she’s scared about getting back together with Ted.”</p>
<p>“It’s hard to imagine Alexis being afraid of anything.” Marcy nods at Patrick’s words. Alexis is seemingly fearless but no one is that confident all the time.</p>
<p>“She told me a story about having to escape from a Ugandan drug lord’s prison.” Marcy pauses, not sure how to phrase her question. “Are they...real? Her stories?”</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure, yeah.” It’s not a surprise to hear Patrick’s confirmation. Alexis’s adventures are too wide ranging for all but the most expansive imaginations.</p>
<p>“And, um…” She trails off, uncertain how Patrick will take her question but desperately needing to know.</p>
<p>“Just say it.” Patrick’s voice is soft.</p>
<p>“What about David?” The words hang in the air. Patrick takes a deep breath.</p>
<p>“As far as I know, David has never escaped from a Ugandan prison.” She smiles weakly at the joke, waiting for him to continue. “David’s tastes ran more to pills and clubs.”</p>
<p>How could Johnny and Moira let their children take such risks? Rage for David and Alexis’s lost childhoods flashes through her. When Patrick was sixteen, he’d stayed out all night once without telling her. She’d been so angry she’d cried for hours after he’d come home. Not knowing if your teenager was in South Africa or Hong Kong or that they were getting high with no one to watch out for them defies her imagination. “Well.” The word is too bright and Patrick smiles at her sympathetically.</p>
<p>“Listen, I need your help.” Grateful for the change of subject, she nods, finishing her tea. “Our anniversary is on Saturday.” He blushes, bashful over the five-year milestone. The sweetness on his face makes her smile. “I’ve got a party planned, but I need you to keep David occupied for a few hours in the afternoon.”</p>
<p>“What about his family, won’t they still be in town?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but none of them can keep a secret, so I’ll be giving them their invitations at the last minute.” Marcy snorts and Patrick grins at her. He’s not wrong, she’s seen Moira promise to keep a secret only to tell someone five minutes later.</p>
<p>Has it really been five years since the wedding? If someone had told her she’d be living in a different town, making secret plans with her son to prevent his soap opera star mother-in-law from ruining his anniversary party, she would have laughed herself sick. “I can’t believe it’s been five years.”</p>
<p>“Me neither. I never thought— well, I never thought a lot of things.” He tilts his head at her, below his chair, Mariah whines at him, restless. Patrick pats his leg and she jumps into his lap, settling quickly as he scratches her ears. “I know I haven’t said it, but I’m glad you’re here. You and dad.”</p>
<p>“Oh honey, I’m so glad to be here.” She leans back in her chair. “Now tell me about this anniversary party.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>It isn’t like old times, Patrick’s not sure the five of them have ever hung out together before without a reason. All the same, it’s familiar. Coming back from the kitchen, he hands the newly opened bottle of wine to David and detours to the piano, opening the lid and picking out a few notes.</p>
<p>“Patrick. I didn’t know you played?” Alexis tucks her legs underneath her on the loveseat. His parents had invited Johnny and Moira over for dinner that evening and Alexis and Twyla had arrived unannounced, depositing a couple of bottles of wine and several bags of snacks onto their coffee table.</p>
<p>“I’m just learning.” He plays the first few notes to Let It Be, the music spills softly through the room. He still has to think about the notes, they don’t flow as naturally yet as they do on the guitar.</p>
<p>“He’s taking lessons from Ronnie.” The idea of Ronnie teaching Patrick anything has continued to delight David, but he and Ronnie have reached a begrudging understanding. During lessons at least.</p>
<p>“And you haven’t quit?” Stevie cackles at him from the other end of the couch.</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure pure stubbornness keeps them both in it.” David raises his eyebrows at him as he takes a sip of wine. In response, he segues into Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting, a song David hates. David scowls at him but before he can complain, Twyla jumps to her feet. “Oh, I love this song.”</p>
<p>Patrick has to chuckle as Twyla joins him on the chorus, the two of them singing loudly to drown out David’s noise of protest.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, don't give us none of your aggravation</em><br/>
<em>We had it with your discipline</em><br/>
<em>Oh, Saturday night's alright for fighting</em><br/>
<em>Get a little action in</em>
</p>
<p>Twyla’s pure voice doesn’t do justice to the rough lyrics, so he drops his voice just to see the effect on David. “Can’t you play something good?’</p>
<p>“That’s an Elton John classic, David.” He runs his hands along the keys, enjoying the cool ivory beneath his fingertips.</p>
<p>“Even the best make mistakes.”</p>
<p>“Okay, David.” He’s tempted to keep trolling David, but he flips through the music on top of the piano, searching for the right song.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, you are in my blood like holy wine</em><br/>
<em>You taste so bitter</em><br/>
<em>And so sweet, oh</em><br/>
<em>I could drink a case of you darling, and I would</em><br/>
<em>Still be on my feet</em><br/>
<em>Oh, I would still be on my feet</em>
</p>
<p>Tywla joins in again on the chorus and even Stevie hums a few words. David smiles at him from the sofa. He’d never known it could be like this, so warm and familiar. Even David protests when he closes the piano and comes back to join David and Stevie on the couch. David slides an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Now that everyone is where they should be, Mariah hops off her bed and brings over her stuffed narwhal, setting it in front of them before sitting expectantly. “What did Ronnie say about the renos?”</p>
<p>“She said she can have the paint and flooring finished by Saturday and as long as I don’t mind a disruption later on, I can move in and she can work around me. She also said that you’re not allowed inside until she’s finished.” Stevie points at him and he shrugs sheepishly. </p>
<p>Mariah gives a half-bark before adding her ball to the pile. “Shush.” He stares at the dog and she grins back at him, tongue lolling. “Okay. It would be great if Ronnie could just let that go.” It’s been six years since his conflict with Ronnie over the store renovations and Ronnie reminds him about it at every opportunity.</p>
<p>“She’s never going to let that go, honey.” David runs a hand across his chest, a comfort and a promise. His husband is no help. He brings it up just as often, delighted to make him squirm.</p>
<p>“Never, ever.” Stevie chimes in as he grimaces at David. At his feet, Mariah has added her squeaky toy and her rawhide bone to the small mountain of toys.</p>
<p>“Maybe when you come to visit next time, Ted can come with you.” Twyla mimics Alexis’s position on the couch, tucking her knees under her chin.</p>
<p>“Well, actually…” Patrick remembers his conversation that morning with his mom. He hopes Alexis won’t say that she’s ended things with Ted. Again. “I asked Ted if he wants to come to town this weekend. He wants to visit his mom, obviously, but since I’m here for a few more days...”</p>
<p>Mariah has found the last of her toys, a plush elephant that his mom had given her when she’d stayed at their house. She places it carefully with the others and sits behind the toys, giving a small bark. “Shh.” If a dog could glare, she would glare at him. Instead, she picks up the elephant and flips it up in the air, catching it on the way down.</p>
<p>Alexis looks down at her phone. “Oh, it’s a message from Ted.” She leans over to show Twyla. “He says ‘alpaca my bags.’ Oh, that’s cute.” Alexis taps at her phone. “I’m going to tell him how much you’ve all missed his puns.”</p>
<p>David opens his mouth and Patrick squeezes his leg before he says anything. “Tell him we toad-ily can’t wait to see him.”</p>
<p>“No, absolutely not. Do not encourage this incorrect behavior.” David’s face twists with distaste.</p>
<p>Never one to miss an opportunity, Stevie chimes in. “Yeah, tell Ted we’ll never frog-et about him.”</p>
<p>“Let him know we hiss he was here.” Twyla beams as David covers his face with both hands. </p>
<p>Alexis’s phone chimes in her hand. “Um, Ted says he turtle-y can’t wait to see everyone.” </p>
<p>David groans and tips his head back against the couch. “All of you are on pun probation.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, David.” Patrick snuggles closely to his husband, forcing him to reluctantly put his arms around him. “We didn’t mean to get carried away.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” David grimaces at him and Patrick can’t help himself.</p>
<p>“It’s not like we did it on porpoise.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David puts the last of the dishes from the night’s impromptu party into the dishwasher, humming under his breath. Twyla and Alexis had left thirty minutes ago and Stevie retreated to the guest room with the transparent excuse that she’s seen too much of them for one day. David reaches for one of the little soap pods, but the container is empty. With a frown, he adds some dish soap instead, before taking the wine glasses over to the sink to hand wash them.</p>
<p>Out the window, Patrick throws a ball for Mariah, her white form is just visible in the growing dusk as she races across the lawn. Through the open window, he hears Patrick whistle and Mariah bounds up the steps, Patrick on her heels as they come into the kitchen. Patrick stops short just inside the door, a bemused look on his face. “David? What did you do?”</p>
<p>“What? Nothing. I just—” Behind him bubbles foam out of the edge of the dishwasher and cascade onto the floor. “Wait, no.” He pulls open the door but that only encourages them and they foam up, ignoring his attempts to push them back in. Behind him, Patrick snickers as more bubbles spill out onto the floor.</p>
<p>“Did you put dish soap in the dishwasher?” Patrick’s lips twitch as he tries not to laugh.</p>
<p>“There weren’t any more of those little packet things. And it’s all soap. Why is it doing this?” He slams the door of the dishwasher shut and it switches on again, oozing more foam out the sides.</p>
<p>Patrick is bent over now, making little wheezing noises as the foam expands across the floor. Mariah comes forward timidly, sniffing at the bubbles before retreating to bark at them instead. “You can’t use dish soap in the dishwasher.”</p>
<p>“I see that now.” He makes a disgusted noise and turns the dishwasher off, his feet slipping a little on the soapy floor.</p>
<p>Before he figures out what to do next, Patrick traps him in the corner of the counter. “I love you, David Rose.” Patrick’s hands catch his hips, triggering an almost Pavlovian response that causes him to place his arms around Patrick’s neck before he even notices it’s happening. Patrick smirks at him. “I especially love your sexy rubber gloves.”</p>
<p>David twines his hands behind Patrick’s head, the bright yellow is vivid against his dark blue shirt. “I haven’t spent this long on proper skin care to ruin my hands in dishwater. Besides, dirty dishes are disgusting.”</p>
<p>Patrick’s kiss is slow and soft, he smiles into the kiss, still snickering over the dishwasher mishap. David lips curve in response and the kiss becomes messy and uncoordinated, making them both laugh even harder. Patrick picks up a dollop of bubbles on one finger, dabbing it gently on the end of David’s nose before he ducks away. He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, burrowing his face in the shoulder of Patrick’s hoodie.</p>
<p>Patrick’s mood changes and one hand grasps the back of his head, Patrick’s strong fingers tangle in his hair, tugging sharply until David raises his head.</p>
<p>The second kiss sends a wave of heat down his spine. Between the hand on his hip and the hand in his hair, Patrick is in full control, he sets the pace, demanding David follow him. Patrick kisses him again and again, each kiss deeper and longer than the last. Patrick’s arousal matches his own, but Patrick’s control is stronger than his and his husband will probably be content to spend all night kissing in the kitchen just to tease him.</p>
<p>“Patrick.” He mumbles the words against his husband’s mouth.</p>
<p>“Mmm?” Patrick puts a fraction of an inch between their lips, a smile sparking in his eyes.</p>
<p>“My shoes are all soapy. Let’s go to bed.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Happy Anniversary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<p>It’s late. Well after midnight for sure. David could check the time, but he’d rather stay where he is, head snuggled into his pillow, his face inches from Patrick’s. The bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the bed, creating a pool of light just for the two of them. Patrick’s fingers ghost over his cheek and his husband smiles softly until his expression is split by a yawn. “We should go to sleep.”</p>
<p>They do this sometimes. Stay up all night, trading thoughts and stories back and forth, content to be together. Sometimes it’s silly, like the time they spent all night ranking the best rom com actresses using an increasingly esoteric set of criteria. And sometimes it’s figuring out the future, charting their dreams together. Tonight has been more nostalgic than usual, drawn out by the comfortable weight of almost five years of marriage, each of them asking questions so they can recall moments of their past together. <em>Do you remember when we met? Do you remember our first date? Do you remember? Do you remember?</em></p>
<p>Patrick shakes his head against the pillow. “I don’t want to go to sleep. Monique has the store tomorrow, we can stay up all night if we want to.”</p>
<p>“You’re ridiculous.” Patrick shrugs, unapologetic, as he kisses David softly. It’s just a simple brush of his lips, but David closes his eyes. “Come back.” With a low laugh, Patrick kisses him again, more firmly this time.  </p>
<p>“Do you remember our first night in this house?” His hand finds a spot at the top of Patrick’s hip even as Patrick’s question makes him cast his memories back.</p>
<p>“How could I forget? You were so grumpy.” The day they’d moved had been an exhausting, emotional day. Patrick had been amped up, the way he gets when things don’t go exactly to plan and David had been overwhelmed by the anxiety of living with someone for the first time. It had led to sharp words from both of them.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t grumpy.” Even in the low light, Patrick’s eyes crinkle as he protests.</p>
<p>“You were grumpy because the bolts for the bed frame got packed in the wrong box and we had to sleep on the mattress on the floor.” Patrick had searched for the hardware long after there was any chance of them putting the bed together, growing increasingly sulky as his spreadsheets failed him.</p>
<p>“And who was grumpy about that?” Patrick teases him, his stomach vibrating beneath David’s hand as he laughs.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t grumpy, I just had opinions.” Sleeping on the floor is never correct.</p>
<p>Patrick smothers a laugh and it makes David wildly happy that he gets to put that expression on his husband’s face. “Okay, but do you remember after that?”</p>
<p>He does. He’d kissed Patrick until he’d stopped being grumpy and Patrick had kissed him back until he’d stopped having opinions about how it was incorrect to sleep on the floor and then Patrick had fucked him, slow and deep, until the emotion of it all brought them both to tears. They’d stayed up late that night as well, talking about what their future in this house might look like, the things they’d do together. He doesn’t need to say any of it; Patrick remembers too. “I do.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Patrick hums at him, kissing him again, lingering longer this time.</p>
<p>“Do you remember the first time we saw this house?” He’d loved the house the moment he’d first seen it, never once imagining he’d even get to step foot inside.</p>
<p>Patrick slips his fingers under the edge of David’s t-shirt, resting his hand against David’s bare skin. “How could I forget? You made me slam on the brakes and I nearly caused an accident.”</p>
<p>“It was worth it.” He leans his head down to kiss Patrick’s shoulder. “If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>Patrick laughs again, a soft, sleepy chuckle. “Did I make you happy?”</p>
<p>“Patrick…” He breathes out his husband’s name, emotion erasing any other words from his vocabulary.</p>
<p>“I promised I would.” Patrick sighs, his voice is barely audible; he’s on the verge of sleep. “Did I?”</p>
<p>“More than anything.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead and whispers the words into his skin before reaching over to turn out the light. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>The daylily has a single, sad bloom, bright yellow against the greenery of the garden. Marcy had replanted it after the gate incident with Roland and the poor thing definitely isn’t happy. Her eyes flick to the new gate, checking to make sure it’s firmly locked on their side. The last thing she needs is for Roland or Jocelyn to come bursting in while she’s roaming the garden in her housecoat.</p>
<p>She wraps her hands more firmly around her coffee mug, the heat welcome on her hands. It’s still early, the sun peeking through the leaves of the trees isn’t strong enough to burn off the dew and the grass is heavy and wet beneath her feet. It will be fall soon, their first summer in this town is almost over.</p>
<p>Circling back to the veranda, she sits on one of the patio chairs and waits for Clint. The clatter of dishes floats through the open window to the kitchen as her husband gathers his coffee and his tablet.</p>
<p>“Morning, sweetheart.” The door opens behind her and Clint kisses her quickly before taking the chair next to hers. “When are we supposed to go to the motel?” Steam rises from his coffee cup, he pulls his chair closer to the table, the New York Times crossword is already open on his iPad.</p>
<p>“Not until two.” Tomorrow is David and Patrick’s fifth anniversary. Patrick has been planning a surprise for months, enlisting their help on the last details.</p>
<p>It’s impossible that it’s been five years. Five years since Patrick had waited, nervous but unwavering, as Alexis walked David down the aisle. Five years since Marcy sobbed her way through the ceremony and part of the reception. Five years since David had made Patrick happier than he’d ever been in the preceding thirty years. She’s lost in thought, remembering the wedding reception and the brightness of Patrick’s smile when her phone buzzes on the table.</p>
<p><strong>Patrick: </strong>There’s a problem<br/><strong>Marcy: </strong>Is everything okay?<br/><strong>Patrick: </strong>No<br/><strong>Patrick: </strong>Moira just texted David that they’re planning to go home today<br/><strong>Patrick: </strong>Would it be too much to ask you to go over to the motel and convince them to stay?<br/><strong>Marcy: </strong>Of course, honey, anything you need</p>
<p>“Everything okay?” Clint looks up from his tablet as she sets her phone down on the table.</p>
<p>“Mmm. The Roses are threatening to leave early and I’ve been asked to stop them.” This was not what she’d had in mind when she’d offered to do anything Patrick needed to help with the party.</p>
<p>“I assume you’re not supposed to tell them about the surprise until tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Only if I have no other choice.” Patrick has put off telling the Roses about the anniversary party until the last minute, knowing that word would surely get back to David. Now, it appears to have backfired.</p>
<p>“I’ve never been happier that Patrick texted you instead of me.” Clint smirks at her and goes back to his crossword. “Kill Bill actress. Three letters.”</p>
<p>Clint always asks her the pop culture questions. “Uma.” He enters the letters into his tablet. Marcy taps her fingers on the table as she mulls over how to divert the force of nature that is the Rose family from its plans.</p>
<p>At the motel, there’s no sign of the Roses’ imminent departure. From the outside, the rooms are suspiciously quiet. She gets out of the car, the large white tent looms next to the motel. The sides are closed tight but Marcy can’t help herself, she slips around to the back and pulls open the loose flap by the door.</p>
<p>Banquet tables dot the edges of the space, leaving room for a dance floor in the middle. At the far end, a small stage waits for the DJ. The flowers will also arrive tomorrow, Dulce and her assistant will be here first thing in the morning to hang the white wisteria and rose floral arrangements from the rafters of the tent. Simple black and white draperies envelop the ceiling, dotted with patio lights. It’s beautiful, like a field of stars, and David will love it.</p>
<p>She can’t put it off any longer. With a sigh, she walks to the far end of the motel and knocks on the door to room 2. “Marcy? What are you doing here?” Alexis holds the door open and she steps inside. The room is filled with overflowing suitcases. At the back of the room, a man she doesn’t recognize zips up a single black canvas bag.</p>
<p>“You must be Ted.” At his nod, she holds out a hand. “I’m Marcy Brewer, Patrick’s mom.”</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you.” Ted frowns, looking at Alexis for clarification.  </p>
<p>Marcy wishes she’d taken more time to prepare a cover story, but there’s no chance of it now. “You’re not leaving already are you?”</p>
<p>“Well, we were supposed to stay until Sunday, but we changed our flight.” Alexis wrestles a suitcase onto the bed and drops an armful of clothing into it.</p>
<p>“You could say we’re just going to <em>wing</em> it.” Ted offers the terrible pun and Marcy prays that he and Clint never spend any time together.</p>
<p>“Oh. I, um, I just wanted to invite you— and your parents— for dinner tomorrow night.” It’s a safe excuse, hosting one big family gathering.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Alexis’s hands prance through the air. “I wish you’d mentioned it when we had brunch yesterday.” She turns to Ted. “It’s too bad you weren’t there, babe, Twy does such a cute brunch now.”</p>
<p>“Uh, I think it would mean a lot to Patrick if you stayed. For dinner. And to David.” She wishes Clint had come with her. He’s much better at making arguments than she is and this is not going well.</p>
<p>“Oh, did my brother send you?” Alexis makes puppy dog eyes over her clasped hands. “I’m going to miss him too.” Alexis crams another outfit into one of the suitcases. “It’s just that we got tickets to Score: A Hockey Musical on Broadway and if we head back today, we can catch the last show.”</p>
<p>The door to the adjoining suite bursts open. “Alexis, what is all this ruckus?” Moira is wearing a dark blue wig and a black-feathered cape.</p>
<p>“I would hardly call a civil conversation with my brother’s mother-in-law a ruckus.” Alexis gives Marcy a sympathetic look. “Marcy was just inviting us to dinner, but I told her we can’t go.”</p>
<p>“And when is this summons we are being forced to repudiate?” As always, conversations with Moira leave her two steps behind.</p>
<p>“Uh, tomorrow night?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m afraid that is out of the question. Stevie has informed us that the pavilion that has been erected on the premises will be in use tomorrow night and I fear it will interrupt our peaceful torpor. No, best we hasten our departure.”</p>
<p>There’s nothing for it. She’s going to have to tell them. It will be up to Patrick to keep David away from his family until tomorrow. “Okay. There’s no dinner.”</p>
<p>“You just said there was, though.” Alexis frowns at her.</p>
<p>“There is a dinner, but it’s here. In the tent, er, the pavilion.” She thought that was clear enough, but she receives two identical confused faces from Moira and Alexis. Over Alexis’s shoulder, Ted smiles at her sympathetically, no doubt he’s better practiced in conversations with the Rose family.</p>
<p>“Marcy dear, this town takes social engagements to an extra level of casualness, but crashing someone else’s soiree is a tad gauche, even for here.” On anyone else, the bright blue wig would be trite and ridiculous. It only serves to make Moira even more intimidating.</p>
<p>Marcy takes a deep breath. “The party that I am inviting you to is here. In the tent. It’s an anniversary party for David and Patrick. And it’s a surprise. So you can’t tell David.”</p>
<p>“Why couldn’t dear Patrick impart these tidings himself? You must tell him that five years is long enough, he mustn't be daunted by us.” Marcy is plenty daunted by the Roses herself, but that’s not why Patrick sent her.</p>
<p>“I don’t think...I don’t think that’s it.” Dealing with the Roses is like being caught in a maelstrom. “Can I tell Patrick you’ll attend?”</p>
<p>“If you must. Although next time, I’d appreciate more time to provide an appropriate RSVP.” With that, Moira whirls her cloak behind her, the door closing with a sharp click.</p>
<p>“Alexis?”</p>
<p>There’s a moment of silent back and forth between Alexis and Ted before David’s sister shrugs her shoulders. “Yes, fine. But tell Patrick he owes us tickets to Broadway.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Happy anniversary, baby.” Patrick whispers the words into the back of David’s neck. The short hairs prickle against his lips as David nestles more firmly into the pillow. He wraps an arm around David’s waist as David squirms against him.</p>
<p>“Grrwngtovwth.” David mumbles the words into his pillow.</p>
<p>Patrick presses his smile against David’s skin. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”</p>
<p>David’s head lifts imperceptibly. “I said ‘Go on, get it over with’.”</p>
<p>“Get what over with?” He nuzzles behind David’s ear, a grin splitting his face.</p>
<p>“The brass band or the singing telegram or the fifteen-tier cake. Whatever torture you’ve prepared for our anniversary. I know it’s going to be bad because it’s our fifth anniversary and your accountant brain thinks five is a more important number than four.” Patrick slides his hand under the hem of David’s sleep shirt, teasing his fingers through the hair on his belly. He has a certain standard to maintain. He’d caught David off guard on their first anniversary and he’s been working to outdo himself every year since. This year should trump all the others, he just needs to troll David first.</p>
<p>“Are you saying you wouldn’t be happy if I got you an enormous cake?” He makes a mental note to add it to his spreadsheet. Maybe next year.</p>
<p>David flips over to face him, his hair is wild from the pillow and from Patrick’s hands the night before. “Maybe a giant cake would be acceptable. Is that what you got me?”</p>
<p>“Nope.” Patrick can’t contain his laugh as he darts closer to press a quick kiss on the tip of David’s nose. “You’re awfully suspicious for such a happy occasion.”</p>
<p>“Of course I’m suspicious.” David levers himself into a sitting position. “Last year it was the giant cake with the stripper in it. I didn’t even know those existed outside of TV. And the year before, you had the Jazzagals singing ‘Always Be My Baby’ all over town so I couldn’t avoid them. And for our first anniversary, you got us matching slankets. In plaid, Patrick!”</p>
<p>“For our first anniversary, I also took you to the drive-in and gave you what you described as the best blow job you’d ever had beneath those slankets.” David had cringed so hard when he’d unwrapped the present, but they’d both enjoyed their soft coziness in the backseat of Patrick’s old car.</p>
<p>“Fine. The slankets are very cozy.” David rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m not right to be suspicious about whatever gift you’re concocted this time.”</p>
<p>“What if I didn’t get you anything? You’ve been entirely too dependent on gifts in our relationship.”</p>
<p>“First of all, it’s not possible to be too dependent on gifts. And B, you would spontaneously explode if you let this day go unnoticed.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” Patrick leans over and fumbles in his nightstand drawer, pulling out a card and handing it to David with a smirk. David holds it at arm’s length as though he’s afraid it might bite. He fumbles his reading glasses off of the nightstand and pulls out the card and shakes the envelope, squinting suspiciously when nothing else falls out. He reads it out loud.</p>
<p>“I lie awake at night wondering how I got so lucky. And also, because you snore.” David gives him a dirty look. “Ha. I'm not the one who forgets to put his little nose thing in half the time.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Patrick presses a kiss to David’s temple. Leaning down over the side of the bed, he pulls out a wrapped parcel and sets it in David’s lap. “Happy anniversary, David.”</p>
<p>David takes his time opening the black and white wrapping paper, shooting Patrick suspicious glances as he removes each piece of tape. Finally, he opens the box to reveal the Neil Barrett sweater that Patrick had chosen. Even though he was confident that his choice fit with David’s style, he’d consulted with Alexis to make sure he’d made the right decision.</p>
<p>David pulls it out of the box and holds it up. “Is it fake?”</p>
<p>Patrick bites his lips together to keep from snickering. “Would I do that to you?” Buying David fake clothes is a step too far, even for him.</p>
<p>“Yes you would, you troll.” Patrick grins at him gleefully, enjoying David’s consternation.</p>
<p>“No, it’s not fake. I thought you could wear it when we go out tonight.” A soft expression creeps across David’s face. “I got you something as well.” David folds up the sweater and takes an envelope out of his bedside drawer and hands it to Patrick. Frowning, he slides out the paper inside.</p>
<p>“David— you didn’t have to do this.” The plane tickets to San Francisco must have been expensive, but he’d told David he wanted to explore and try unfamiliar things and David is clearly taking him seriously. An indescribable emotion that only belongs to David Rose wells up inside him.</p>
<p>“Yes. I did. It’s just two nights in the city and two nights in wine country, but you wanted to get away and the Blue Jays are playing someone—”</p>
<p>“I love you.” He kisses David, soft and sure, lingering an extra moment to relish the press of David’s lips on his. “I’m going to make pancakes.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” David’s hand tightens on the back of his neck and he flips them over using a wrestling move that he’ll later claim he learned from a Japanese origamist or a Romanian basket-weaver. He presses Patrick into the mattress, rolling his hips until Patrick writhes beneath him. “It wouldn’t be our anniversary without a happy ending.”</p>
<p>The laughter bubbles up inside him, side by side with his arousal. David holds him in place, amusement flaring in his black eyes before he moves more seriously, getting a hand between them. It doesn’t take long. It never does, with David. For five years, Patrick has been waiting for his desire to stabilize, for these moments to take longer, for the deep, overwhelming need to be tempered by familiarity. It hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it never will.</p>
<p>David braces his arms on either side of his head. “Happy anniversary, Patrick.” He reaches up for a kiss. In a moment, he’ll be gross and sticky, but the sensation of David’s body pressing down on him never fails to turn him on.</p>
<p>“Happy anniversary.” David collapses beside him and Patrick brushes his lips across David’s before he slides out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower. And then I’m going to make pancakes.”</p>
<p>In the kitchen, he lets Mariah into the back yard and puts the coffee on, taking three mugs out of the cupboard. Out the window, Mariah sniffs her way through the garden, checking carefully at the spot where she’d chased the squirrel last week before darting up the stairs of the carriage house and barking at the door. Patrick smiles as the door opens just wide enough to allow Mariah inside.</p>
<p>Stevie will be over soon for coffee and breakfast, something that’s become a morning ritual since she moved in. It’s put a bit of a crimp in the spontaneity of their kitchen blow jobs, but since David complains that he’s too old for sex on hard surfaces, it works out. And, in all honesty, Patrick loves having her here.</p>
<p>He’d worried, at first, that they would be giving up their privacy, but Stevie is away a lot. And, she values her own privacy, so other than mornings together, they don’t see her unless she’s invited. The door to the carriage house opens again and Stevie steps outside, Mariah trotting happily beside her. Patrick fills another mug with coffee, preparing it the way Stevie likes it and setting it on the counter.</p>
<p>“Morning, Patrick.” Stevie yawns and accepts the coffee with a grateful nod. Mariah slurps at her water before pouncing on her stuffed elephant and dragging it to her bed in the corner. “Is everything ready for tonight?”</p>
<p>He pours the first of the pancakes onto the griddle. “I think so. I’ve asked my dad to deal with the Roses this afternoon while my mom goes on vendor runs with David.”</p>
<p>“I could have done that. Babysat the Roses, I mean.” Stevie sets her mug down on the counter. “Are you sure your dad can handle them? No offense to your dad.”</p>
<p>“Unlikely. But I didn’t want to make things more awkward for you.” Stevie has been avoiding any opportunity to talk about her conflict with the Roses.</p>
<p>Stevie laughs. “Johnny and I are fine. He knows why I did it. And I think he’s secretly a little proud that I was so ruthless.”</p>
<p>“And Moira?” He names the elephant in the room.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah. She’s coming around. She hasn’t called me a traitor since Thursday.” Moira had kept her word after their conversation, inviting David for a mother-son dinner the next day. Although David had returned complaining about having to hear excessive details about the Sunrise Bay fan convention and using words like ‘trepidatiously’, it appears things have gone back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for the Rose family.</p>
<p>David’s footsteps thump down the stairs and his husband appears minutes later, freshly showered and yawning. He drapes himself around Patrick, kissing him with a little more tongue than is appropriate in front of company.</p>
<p>“Ew. Get a room.” Stevie’s protests are muffled behind her mug.</p>
<p>“We had a room, we gave it to you.” David picks up the coffee Patrick prepared for him and takes a large gulp.</p>
<p>Patrick slides a plate with two perfectly cooked, pink, heart-shaped pancakes towards David, ignoring his huff of disapproval. He hands Stevie a similar plate with two round, but equally pink pancakes on it. “How come Stevie gets normal pancakes?” David mumbles the words through his first mouthful.</p>
<p>“Because it’s not her anniversary.” He adds heart-shaped pancakes to his own plate. “See, anniversary people get anniversary pancakes.”</p>
<p>“I hate you.” David points his fork at him.</p>
<p>“I love you too, baby.” He kisses David on the cheek but his husband is too busy eating his pancakes to respond.</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Ooooo.”</p>
<p>In the front seat of the car, Mariah howls along with David’s Mariah Carey playlist. David wags his finger at the dog. “This is not appropriate behavior to honor Mariah. She deserves respect.” In response, the dog licks his fingers. David wipes them on a tissue. “Ugh. That’s even worse.”</p>
<p>In the driver’s seat, Marcy laughs at him. Patrick had insisted that his mom wanted to do vendor pick-ups with him today, raising David’s suspicions about his husband’s motivations on their anniversary, but it’s nice, spending time one-on-one with his mother-in-law. Even after all this time, the word has a foreign sound to it, like trying to order from the French menu. People like David Rose aren’t supposed to have mothers-in-law because no one would want to marry them. Before Clint and Marcy, he’d thought in-laws were screechy burdensome people like he saw on TV. Not like this warm, affectionate woman who is doing them a favor to cover up whatever surprise her son is planning. “We should do this more often.” Marcy’s eyes twinkle with amusement and he hurries to explain. “Not the work part. But maybe we could hang out sometimes? Just you and me?”</p>
<p>Marcy is silent for a moment and David worries he’s overstepped, that he’s missed some key piece of mother-in-law etiquette that is obvious to people who aren’t David Rose. But Marcy’s face is soft. “I would like that very much.”</p>
<p>“Good. Because next weekend there’s a new art exhibit opening at the Elmdale Art House and Patrick has a business seminar and Stevie will be away, so maybe we could go? And that sounds like I’m asking you out on a date, which probably not a thing you should say to your mother-in-law and—”</p>
<p>Marcy interrupts. The expression on her face is the same as the one Patrick has right before he teases him. “David. I would love to go to the art exhibit with you. For the record, I like flowers and a nice box of chocolates on a first date. And I should probably check with my husband to make sure he’s okay with it.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I liked you a lot better five minutes ago.” Over the past few months, Marcy has teased him more and more, as though the proximity has given her permission. It reminds him so strongly of Patrick, and her cheeky smirk makes him feel warm inside.</p>
<p>Even so, he’s grateful when she changes the subject. “So, Ted seems like a good guy. He and Alexis make a nice couple.”</p>
<p>“He is nice. Except for the puns.” Mariah wiggles across his lap and sticks her nose to the crack in the window. “Wait, when did you meet Ted?” Ted had joined Alexis in Schitt’s Creek two days ago, but as far as David knows, Marcy hasn’t met him yet.</p>
<p>There’s a lengthy pause from Marcy. “Uh, your sister was at the cafe yesterday. With Ted.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” His misgivings about whatever Patrick is plotting for this evening get even deeper. Why would Marcy be talking to his family?</p>
<p>“So, what’s our first stop?” Marcy’s voice is brighter than normal, her attempt at changing the subject is blatantly obvious.</p>
<p>“The Martinezes are making homemade ice cream, so we’re starting there.” Mariah curls up on David’s lap, he scratches her ears absently. “Thank you for driving today. I’m sure Patrick probably told you about the plans for this evening.” He’s fishing even though Marcy is surely too smart to fall for it.</p>
<p>David stops short of batting his eyes at her and she smiles sweetly back at him. “Nice try, honey.” Clearly Marcy isn’t going to tell him what Patrick’s plans are. “I remember our fifth wedding anniversary. Clint tried so hard to surprise me, but he gets so flustered when he has to keep a secret and he accidentally let the cat out of the bag two days before.”</p>
<p>“Where did he take you?” Patrick has told him so many stories about the lengths Clint has gone to make Marcy happy. It’s clear that Clint also appreciates a grand gesture.</p>
<p>“We went to the carnival. And ate popcorn and cotton candy and kissed on top of the Ferris wheel. It probably sounds silly to you, but silly can be romantic, you know.” Marcy defends Clint’s younger self and David loves her for it.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t sound silly at all.” Patrick does that for him; makes him do silly things that take him out of his head. Over the years Patrick’s gifts have often been, stupid, teasing things that make him roll his eyes and Patrick laugh with delight. “Patrick didn’t rent a carnival for tonight, did he?”</p>
<p>“I’ll never tell.” David gives her a mock scowl and Marcy chuckles at his put-upon expression.</p>
<p>“Tell me about your other anniversaries.” He shouldn’t love this as much as he does, hearing Marcy’s normal, everyday memories. Maybe one day, he and Patrick will have similar stories to look back on. Maybe they already do.</p>
<p>“Well, last year was our 40th, you were there for that.” David nods, they’d driven out for a week in West Canthor for a massive party that ended with Clint and Marcy leaving on a week-long trip to Paris. “For our 20th, Clint booked a carriage ride to the restaurant, but when we got there, he’d paid everyone to dress up like characters from the Wizard of Oz. It’s my favorite movie.”</p>
<p>“You like that.” David looks at his mother-in-law with fresh eyes. “When Clint does ridiculous things for you.”</p>
<p>Marcy giggles. “I guess I do.” She pats his arm. “I’ve learned a lot about Clint when he’s being silly. And it makes him happy to make me laugh.”</p>
<p>David chews on the side of his cheek thinking about how much he loves it when Patrick teases him, even though he’d never admit it. He settles back into his seat. He feels guilty sometimes, the way Patrick does things for him. But maybe doing things for him is part of what makes Patrick happy.</p>
<p>“Oh, I almost forgot.” Marcy jolts him out of his thoughts. “There’s a parcel in the back seat for you.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t need to do that.” Getting gifts from anyone other than Patrick on his anniversary is excessive. It’s not like it’s his birthday.</p>
<p>“Well, technically, I didn’t. It’s from Clint.” David frowns, trying to imagine what might have driven his father-in-law to get him a gift. He twists around, peering behind him and pulling out the gift bag from behind Marcy’s seat. Given the context of their conversation, he’s worried, but he digs down past the tissue paper until his fingers hit a soft, knitted object and he pulls out a small black-and-white striped sweater.</p>
<p>“Um.” The wool is soft against his hands but it’s far from a luxury item.</p>
<p>“It’s for Mariah. Clint knitted it himself.” Marcy’s face softens. “It’s the first thing he’s ever made, so I told him she wouldn’t mind the mistakes.”</p>
<p>There was a time when he would have turned up his nose at a hand-knitted dog sweater, especially one that’s a little crooked. Instead, he’s tearing up at his father-in-law knitting clothing for his dog. He slides the sweater onto Mariah, tucking her paws through the leg holes. The stitches are uneven in one or two spots, but he smooths it over her back as she wiggles beneath his hands.</p>
<p>“Tell Clint I said thank you.” His voice is quiet as Mariah shakes, settling the coat into place.</p>
<p>“Oh honey, tell him yourself.” Marcy squeezes his arm. “He’ll be happy to know you liked it.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Clint scowls at his closet but his clothes remain alarmingly, uniformly blue.</p>
<p>“Maybe you should have asked David if you could borrow a sweater.” Marcy appears beside him, already dressed in a black dress and black cardigan.</p>
<p>“He’d probably ask for proof of insurance before he let that happen.” Clint flips through the hangers again. Patrick had asked them to wear black and white tonight and his choices are the tux he’d worn to Patrick’s wedding or the white t-shirt that he wears when he’s mowing the lawn.</p>
<p>Marcy nudges him aside with her hip, flipping through the hangers on the far side of the walk-in closet. “Here. Wear this one.”</p>
<p>The button-up isn’t black. It’s a deep, full navy blue. It’s the best choice. The only choice. No one will notice. Except David, probably. “Thanks, honey.” Marcy squeezes his arm and goes into the ensuite to put on her makeup.</p>
<p>“I was telling David about our fifth anniversary today.” Clint finishes tucking the shirt into his black chinos and leans in the doorway of the bathroom, the familiar ritual unfolding as Marcy touches the mascara to her eyelashes, first the right, then the left.</p>
<p>“Do you think Patrick remembered the Ferris wheel for tonight?” His eyes meet Marcy’s in the mirror and they grin at the shared memory.</p>
<p>Marcy puts the cap back on the mascara bottle and picks up her lipstick. “He said I like it when you do silly things for me.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” David’s not wrong. Even after all these years, it makes him happy to make Marcy laugh over something irreverent. “Maybe tonight we can do something silly and embarrass our son, it could be a win-win.”</p>
<p>Marcy chortles. “Maybe we could. David’s not wrong. I love it when you make me laugh.”</p>
<p>“I love being able to make you laugh.” He moves to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders as he looks at their reflection in the mirror. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” Marcy squeezes his hand, leaning back against him. He’s about to say something that he hopes will make her laugh when there’s a loud knocking from downstairs. “Were you expecting someone?”</p>
<p>Marcy shakes her head. “Everyone I know is going to the party tonight.”</p>
<p>Downstairs, he pulls open the door to find Roland on the doorstep. “Clint.” He ducks out of the way just in time to avoid Roland’s clap on his shoulder. “That’s a nice shirt. You weren’t planning on going anywhere tonight, were you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, we’re leaving in a few minutes. It’s David and Patrick’s anniversary.” He tries to keep the impatience out of his voice, it will just prolong the conversation.</p>
<p>“Oh right. I wasn’t sure if they invited you to that or not. We’re just on our way there.” Roland shoves his hands in his pockets, giving no indication that he’s planning to leave Clint’s front porch.</p>
<p>They need to leave right away if they’re going to make it to the party before David and Patrick. “Is there something I can do for you, Roland?”</p>
<p>“Well, there might be a slight problem with your driveway.” Roland steps aside to reveal a large trench cutting through his driveway directly behind his car.</p>
<p>“Roland. What did you do to my driveway? How are we supposed to get to the motel?” He peers over Roland’s shoulder at the trench, their car is completely trapped, there’s no way to get past the gaping two-foot wide hole.</p>
<p>“It’s just a new waterline. It will be all finished up by tomorrow.” Roland claps him on the shoulder and steps off the porch.</p>
<p>There’s only one option. “Roland. You need to give us a ride to the motel.”</p>
<p>“Are you asking or demanding?” Roland uses his ‘I don’t like your tone’ voice, the one that gets under Clint’s skin.</p>
<p>Clint takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to strangle Roland and steal his keys. “Roland. Will you please give us a ride to the motel?”</p>
<p>“It would be my pleasure. You know, next time, you don’t need to draw things out, you can just ask. Joce and I are all ready to go but you just take your time.” Roland points to the black truck parked in front of their house. Jocelyn waves excitedly from the front seat.</p>
<p>“We’ll just be a minute.” He closes the door firmly behind Roland as Marcy comes down the stairs. “Do you remember our neighbors in West Canthor?”</p>
<p>Marcy nods, tilting her head to one side. “Ned and Alma. Why?”</p>
<p>“I miss them.” They’d been a lovely couple in their eighties. Ned liked to talk about baseball and Alma brought over brownies and gave Marcy advice on her garden.</p>
<p>“What’s Roland done now?” Marcy presses her lips together.</p>
<p>“Just put an enormous hole in the driveway. But don’t worry, he’s going to do us a favor and give us a ride to the party.”</p>
<p>Marcy laughs a little helplessly as she opens the hall closet. “I was going to wear heels, but maybe I’ll wear flats just in case we need to walk home.” Clint helps her into her coat and she slides on her shoes. “Is there anything else that you miss?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head as he pulls on his own coat. “Everything I need is right here.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>Patrick pulls the shirt out of the closet and holds it against his body, tilting his head as he considers it in the mirror. David is still in the shower, he’d given Patrick a knowing look as he’d laid the new sweater out on the bed. Their five-year anniversary is a strange time to be thinking about beginnings but it feels like they're on the verge of a precipice, about to step into something new. He holds up the shirt again. The Patrick of five years ago would never have dared to wear this shirt in public.</p>
<p>He slides the soft fabric over his bare shoulders, David’s eyes had gone dark and feral when he’d tried on the Givenchy button-up with the black and white rose pattern a few months ago. He hasn’t had a chance to wear the shirt since then, but what better way to make a statement that he belongs to David Rose. He’s tucking the tails of the button-up into his black jeans when David comes out of the bathroom, his hair perfectly styled and a towel low on his hips. David stops, a predatory smile breaking across his face. “I hope that shirt is a sign of all the fun we’re going to have tonight.”</p>
<p>“I thought we could go for an anniversary dinner.” David’s eyes narrow and without speaking, he holds Patrick’s eyes, slowing and provocatively undoing the towel around his waist. Fully naked, he throws the towel into the hamper without breaking eye contact, shimmying towards him. </p>
<p>“Or we could skip right to dessert.” It’s an obvious ploy. There’s no universe where David would voluntarily skip dinner. Patrick crosses his arms as his naked husband slinks towards him, desperate to keep his composure.</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath, reciting the tax code under his breath to maintain his control. “Get dressed David, you don’t want people to stare while we’re eating.”</p>
<p>David crowds against him. “You’re so cute when you’re being smug.” Patrick wants to run his hands over every inch of David’s bare skin but he settles for gripping his biceps, holding David millimeters away from his body.</p>
<p>“I know.” He ducks out from David’s arms, David pouts at him dramatically before pulling on his new sweater and his bleached jeans. “C’mon we don’t want to be late.”</p>
<p>“Right. For dinner.”</p>
<p>“Yep. We just need to make a quick stop first.” David rolls his eyes at him. David has figured out that they’re not just going for a traditional dinner, but Patrick is confident he’s preserved the most important part of the surprise.</p>
<p>He stops himself from kissing David until they get to the car, even a single kiss might cause his entire plan to unravel. It’s a quick drive to the motel even with David shooting him knowing glances every few seconds, but David doesn’t comment until they pull into the driveway. The patio lights of the tent glow and twinkle in the half-darkness, like a swarm of fireflies held within the confines of the white canvas. David’s fingers tighten on his leg as he breathes out his question. “Patrick. What did you do?”</p>
<p>“I know it’s five years late, but better late than never, right?” He brings the car to a stop in front of the motel. “Happy anniversary, David.” He leans close, David’s lips are hot and urgent against his own. David pulls away, his eyes are bright as he peppers Patrick with questions.</p>
<p>“Is there a wood-fired pizza oven?”</p>
<p>“Mmm hmm.”</p>
<p>“And real champagne?”</p>
<p>“Yep.”</p>
<p>“And a DIY sundae bar?”</p>
<p>“Yes, that too. Except I got the tent this time.”</p>
<p>“God, I love you so much.” David kisses him again, pushing forward to get as close as possible, giving a growl of protest as the seat belt brings him up short.</p>
<p>“C’mon, everyone’s waiting.” Patrick squeezes David’s knee one last time, reaching for the door handle.</p>
<p>“Let them wait.” David’s hand finds the back of his neck, dragging him back for another kiss. This is where everything started, in this exact spot, with David’s fingers and lips lighting him up inside. Maybe a few more minutes won’t hurt. He grips David’s leg, and David takes the hint, licking into his lips, deepening the kiss.</p>
<p>They can’t spend the night making out in the car. He breaks away, confident of the one thing that will distract David. “What about the pizza, though?”</p>
<p>David pulls away so quickly, Patrick worries he might hurt himself, consternation written across his face.  “We have to go before someone eats all the good toppings.”</p>
<p>He takes David’s hand as they get out of the car and walk hand in hand across the motel lawn as the opening strains of ‘Precious Love’ float into the air. The motel is the same as it’s always been, the differences are written in the details that only appear up close. There are colorful curtains in the windows of all the rooms now and every door has a fresh coat of paint. The planters Moira had fought so hard for have multiplied, with one outside every room. Coming here always unleashes a torrent of memories that must be tenfold for David. They stop for a minute in front of room 7. David doesn’t speak right away, his eyes riveted to the number on the door. Patrick waits, hoping whoever rented the room tonight doesn’t see them staring like a pair of stalkers in designer clothing. “I spent some of the best and worst nights of my life behind that door.”</p>
<p>“I know.” He squeezes David’s hand. “Let’s go add another one to the list.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David tips his head back, the canvas above his head is covered with an ocean of white flowers interspersed with a thousand twinkling fairy lights. Five years ago, all of his months of planning, the years of collecting fabric swatches, and creating mood boards to design the perfect wedding were lost to the wind and rain. But it hadn’t mattered because Patrick had married him anyway.</p>
<p>The fourth Mariah Carey song of the night filters over the noise of their friends and family. David’s not sure what combination of threats and bribery Patrick used to keep Gary to the pre-approved playlist, but so far it’s working. On the other side of the tent, Patrick is surrounded by a group of his cousins. There’s Aidan, the lawyer and his brother Darren, who owns an IT company and there’s a third man who looks enough like the other two that he must be the third brother, Cam. Or is it Calvin? As he searches his memories, his mother’s voice startles him out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>“David dear, congratulations on this momentous occasion. I never thought we’d see this day.” His mom is wearing the latest Alexander McQueen, thankfully it makes less of a statement than the one she’d worn to his wedding.</p>
<p>“Five whole years, David.” His sister reaches behind his mom and hands him a glass of champagne.</p>
<p>“I appreciate your ongoing skepticism about my marriage. It’s a gift.” His eyes find Patrick, the cousins have given way to a group of Marcy’s sisters. David winces as one of them reaches out and pinches Patrick’s cheek.</p>
<p>“Of course we didn’t mean that, dear. After the rain washed away your previous celebratory function, this moment seemed unlikely to recrudesce.” He hadn’t thought this moment would recrudesce either. Fuck. Five minutes with his mom and he’s pulling words out of thin air like he’s doing public readings of Roget’s.</p>
<p>“Hmm. Well you know what you could get me as an anniversary gift? A conversation with Stevie.” His mom stares at him. It’s the look she reserves for waitstaff and the host on the View who tried to touch her wig.</p>
<p>“Oh David, how can I possibly do that when Stevie has betrayed your father so deeply?” There’s a gale of laughter as across the tent his dad snorts at something Stevie has said.</p>
<p>“I think dad’s going to be okay. And wasn’t it you who told me not to confuse business and pleasure?” It had been one of the many points she’d touched on in her toast at their wedding.</p>
<p>“Yes, and you ignored my advice and look where that got you.” His mom waves a hand dramatically at the party.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying that Stevie made a business decision. We’re her family, don’t take that away from her. Or me.”</p>
<p>“Very well. If your father can forgive her, I will do my best to replicate his temperament.” It’s not precisely the conversation he’d requested, but it’s probably as close as he’s going to get.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” He finishes his champagne. Alexis plucks the glass from his fingers, offering her hand instead.</p>
<p>“Come dance, David.”</p>
<p>They join the other couples on the dance floor. Twyla is dancing with one of the Brewer cousins and beyond them, Patrick dances with Marcy. He guides Alexis around the other couples. The song is on the second chorus before his sister says anything. “Ted and I are going to get a place together.”</p>
<p>“Sounds serious.” For maybe the first time he’s not worried about his sister’s relationship. It’s Ted. He’s almost as responsible as Patrick.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I think it is.” Alexis bites her lip, silent for a long moment. “I’ve never done that before, you know? I mean I lived with Prince Harry at Buckingham Palace for three months, but it’s a big house and we hardly ever saw each other.” Alexis’s insecurities only come out when things are serious.</p>
<p>“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Why do you think I waited until we were married before I moved in with Patrick?” He’s never admitted to anyone, not even to Patrick, how scared he’d been that sharing a space everyday might finally make him too much for Patrick. Over time, he’s learned that Patrick has just as many annoying traits as he does. He tolerates Patrick’s insistence on air drying the dishes and sleeping with the windows open, surely Alexis can do the same for Ted.  </p>
<p>Alexis pulls back to look him in the eye. “Yeah. What if we want different things? What if he has too many spatulas? Or I don’t like how he organizes his cupboards? I can cook now, David. These things are important.”</p>
<p>“Firstly, you can make spaghetti, it’s not like you’re Nigella Lawson. And two, you and Ted have figured out bigger things, I know you can make this work. You’re different now.” He grins over her shoulder, wishing Patrick could hear him. “You just have to learn to compromise.”</p>
<p>The song ends and Alexis sashays through the crowd to Ted’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders like it belongs there. Before David makes his third trip to the pizza station, Stevie appears in front of him. She’s wearing the black dress and leather jacket that she uses to pick up randoms and he’s sure he’d seen her sneaking outside with one of the Brewer cousins earlier. “I think it’s customary to dance with your Maid of Honor.”</p>
<p>“You know that title expired five years ago, right?” With a regretful look back at the pizza station, he takes her hand and moves back onto the dance floor.</p>
<p>“I thought you’d want to milk it for as long as possible. You’re finally getting the wedding reception of your dreams.”</p>
<p>He is. Patrick hasn’t captured every detail, but it’s what he had designed five years before. “I already had the wedding of my dreams.” It had been rain-soaked and hastily assembled, but nothing could have been better.</p>
<p>Stevie stops dead in the middle of the dance floor. “Who are you and what have you done with David Rose?”</p>
<p>“This is beautiful and I love that Patrick did this for us. But it can never compete with our actual wedding day.”</p>
<p>“Marriage has changed you.” It has. He knows it has. In little ways, like how he waits to watch the new episodes of the Great Canadian Baking Show so that Patrick can watch his baseball games live and in big ways, like how he tries to get out of his head before he overreacts to his anxieties. “It looks good on you.” They dance together in silence for a while before Stevie speaks again. “Your mom talked to me.”</p>
<p>“And?” Even though he’d asked him mom to make things right with Stevie, there are multiple ways it might have gone.</p>
<p>“And I might need my thesaurus to confirm, but I think she was offering an olive branch?”</p>
<p>David grimaces at the old joke. “Are you going to make her wait a week?”</p>
<p>“Somehow I doubt your mom will shower me with gifts.” </p>
<p>He chuckles. If anything, his mom undoubtedly thinks it should be the other way around. “As long as she doesn’t expect a lip sync.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Hey, sis.” Marcy’s sister Linda sets a plate with a piece of pizza and a glass of wine in front of the seat next to Marcy’s and sinks into the chair. “Your son puts on a wonderful party.”</p>
<p>“I’m so glad everyone could make it.” Half of her family is here. Her sisters and their families, Patrick’s cousins, some of whom she hasn’t seen since the wedding five years ago. David and Patrick are sitting with Stevie on the other side of the tent. Patrick leans his head on David’s shoulder, the simple tenderness of it makes her breath catch.</p>
<p>“It’s just like old times.” Marcy nods at Linda, but it’s not, quite. She has new friends now. Priya and Ronnie, who are laughing together by the pizza oven. Stevie and Twyla. Even, as much as she hates to admit it, Roland and Jocelyn. There’s magic in this town, the way it expands to accept whoever needs it. “Maybe someday soon you’ll be sending us baby pictures.” It’s a familiar conversation, for years, they had all assumed that Patrick and Rachel would have kids and then, for a long time, those comments had stopped.</p>
<p>She shakes her head at Linda. “I don’t think that will happen. Neither David nor Patrick want kids.”</p>
<p>“And how do you feel about that?” All of her sisters have grandchildren. Linda’s sixteen-year-old granddaughter is on the dance floor, teaching a line dance to her younger cousins.</p>
<p>“Look how happy they are.” Patrick teases David, holding a piece of pizza out of his reach before kissing him and handing it over. “How could I want anything else for them?” Her heart is full, she doesn’t need anything else. Patrick leans forward to say something in David’s ear, one hand resting familiarly on his husband’s leg. In response, David tips his head back and laughs. </p>
<p>Patrick kisses him on the cheek before getting up and coming towards her. He holds out his hand. “Can I have this dance?”</p>
<p>She nods to Linda and takes Patrick’s hand. “Of course, sweetheart.” Patrick leads her onto the dance floor. He’s wearing a bold floral shirt that must have come from David’s closet. “Nice shirt.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” He grins at her impishly before spinning her around. “My husband gave it to me.”</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, there’s a lump in her throat. “I’m so proud of you, honey.” Patrick has always been confident. Too much so, sometimes. The confidence is still there, even more than before, but he’s relaxed now. He wears his confidence more easily. Almost as though it’s real and not an act.</p>
<p>“For wearing a new shirt?” Patrick grins at her, the same smile his seven-year-old self had given her when he’d tried to convince her that since they were both taught in school, playing baseball was the same as doing his math homework.</p>
<p>“You’re such a sassy boy, who taught you to be so sassy?” Maybe he was born that way? No, she’s to blame.</p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure it was you. Or maybe dad.” Patrick spins them in a circle, past where Johnny is dancing with Stevie.</p>
<p>She waits until they’ve made another circle of the dance floor before she speaks again. “I’m so proud that you’ve found a way to be so happy.”</p>
<p>“Well.” Patrick’s voice is uneven. “I didn’t do it alone. You’re part of that too, you know.” He’s quiet for a moment, moving them to the beat of the music. “All I wanted was a fresh start when I came to Schitt’s Creek. And I found that. With the store. With David. With everyone here.” Patrick is quiet for a moment before he continues. “I had to leave everything behind to do that. But I’m glad you followed me here.”</p>
<p>“Me too, honey.” She’s never felt so uncertain as she has over the past six months, but for the first time she’s fully confident they’ve made the right choices.</p>
<p>“Can I cut in?” Patrick brings them to a halt as Clint holds out his hand beside her.</p>
<p>“Thanks, mom.” Patrick hugs her tightly. “I probably don’t say it enough, but I love you.” He steps back and looks up at Clint. “I love you and dad both.”</p>
<p>“We love you too, sweetheart.” She has to hug him again. “Very much.”</p>
<p>Patrick makes his way back across the tent to where David is talking with Stevie and Rachel. Seeing the four of them sitting together makes her chuckle as she takes Clint’s hand. “Our son and his husband and their ex-girlfriends.”</p>
<p>Clint corrects her softly. “Our son and his husband and their best friends.”</p>
<p>“That too.” Dancing with Clint her body relaxes into the memory of a hundred dances that have come before this. “So this is home now.” Over Clint’s shoulder Roland and Jocelyn are dancing much too closely together.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it is.” Clint spins her around the dance floor, past Roland and Jocelyn, past where Ted and Alexis are talking to Twyla, past where Priya and her husband are talking to Ronnie and Dulce, and back to where David and Patrick and Stevie and Rachel are laughing together.</p>
<p>“I think we’re going to be very happy here.”</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>“Is one of those for me?”</p>
<p>Patrick pauses as he’s pouring glasses of champagne for himself and David. “It can be.” He hands a glass to Rachel and takes another empty one from the table to replace it. “I’m really glad you came, Rach.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have missed it. You know that.” She nudges him with her shoulder. Instead of picking up the glasses, he leans against the table. The tent is filled with people, drinking and dancing beneath the light-speckled roof of the tent. “Stop that.” She nudges him again.</p>
<p>“What?” No one reads him like Rachel. When they were together, he’d thought their relationship was the reason she could read his mind, but it likely has more to do with a friendship that began by sharing crayons in kindergarten.</p>
<p>“Stop being weird and nostalgic about the wedding we didn’t have.” He’d worried before his and David’s wedding that he’d compare it to his plans with Rachel. On the day, between the rain and his excitement and nerves about marrying David, he’d barely had time to think about anything, let alone a wedding that never happened. But tonight, he has more time to reflect.</p>
<p>“I’m not nostalgic.” It’s not that he’s wishing for something that didn’t happen, just more of a ‘what if.’</p>
<p>“Well, stop being weird, then.” Rachel smiles as her husband Matt dances past with Gabe in his arms.</p>
<p>“I am so happy we didn’t get married.” He pauses, trying to put it all into words. It’s not just that he’s gay or that he’s deliriously happy with David. He and Rachel had been settling for each other and neither of them had known it.</p>
<p>Rachel grins at him fondly. “I know.”</p>
<p>“I would have tried so hard and still made you so miserable.” It’s true. If they’d gotten married, he would have tried every day until neither of them could stand it anymore.</p>
<p>“Not as miserable as I would have made you.” She laughs at him for a minute before her face sobers. “I’m glad you’ve let yourself be happy, Patrick.”</p>
<p>It’s an odd way to phrase it and it makes him stop for a second. She’s right. He finally has the freedom to stop trying so hard and live in the moment. David has given him that. He’s mulling it over when Ronnie materializes in front of him.</p>
<p>“Let’s go, hotshot.” Ronnie holds out a hand and nods towards the dance floor.</p>
<p>That Ronnie wants to dance with him is preposterous. “Are you throwing me out of my party?”</p>
<p>“Let’s dance. One-time offer.” Ronnie’s voice leaves no room for discussion. If he says no, it will be another black mark against him.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He picks up the champagne glass and hands it to Rachel. “Take this to David?” And holds out his hand to Ronnie. “Let’s dance.”</p>
<p>There’s some awkwardness as they silently fight to see who will lead. After he steps on her toes for the third time, Ronnie shrugs and gives in. “Go on with your heteronormativity then.” It’s a small win, one she won’t let him hold on to for very long. “You know I’ve never liked you.” From her tone, Ronnie might be ordering coffee at the cafe or reading the newspaper. “I still don’t, just so we’re clear.”</p>
<p>Why? What is so egregious that Ronnie has held a grudge for so long? He wants to demand an answer, but he also wants to hear what Ronnie is going to say so he just nods. “I didn’t think you were gonna last.” He maneuvers Ronnie around the line dance that’s grown in the middle of the dance floor. “From the minute I saw you, I knew you had some shit going on. And the last thing David needed was another messed up person in his life.”</p>
<p>He opens his mouth to protest before closing it with a snap. It’s taken years of therapy for him to acknowledge how much of a mess he’d been when he’d run away to Schitt’s Creek. And Ronnie’s right, there had been multiple points along the way where he might have unintentionally destroyed himself or David. “Mmm hmm?” He settles on the easy way out, sensing Ronnie has more she wants to say.</p>
<p>“You proved me wrong, is what I’m trying to say.” It might be the first time he’s earned anything close to an apology from her.</p>
<p>He shouldn’t feel as grateful for her words as he does. “Thank you, Ronnie.”</p>
<p>“Don’t get complacent. I’m still gonna be watching you to make sure you don’t screw things up.”</p>
<p>He can’t help but chuckle. “You’re like the worst guardian angel ever.”</p>
<p>“And there it is. You just couldn’t let me think that maybe I should like you just a tiny bit more. You had to ruin this nice moment we were having.” They’ve worked their way across the dance floor to where David is talking to Rachel and Stevie. Ronnie comes to an abrupt halt, dropping his hand and giving him a pointed look. “Don’t forget.”</p>
<p>“It was nice talking to you, too.” Patrick mutters the words at her back as she disappears into the crowd.</p>
<p>“What did Ronnie want?” David wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders from behind, pulling him close.</p>
<p>“I think that was my five year warning.” Inexplicably, he likes Ronnie better now than he had ten minutes ago.</p>
<p>“Hmm. Are you done dancing with other people?” David noses at the spot behind his ear, sending a tiny spark of electricity through him like he’s walked across a wool carpet in his sock feet.</p>
<p>“Oh no, have I been neglecting you?” He turns in David’s arms, his hands finding their familiar place at the top of David’s hips.</p>
<p>“Yes. And you’d better be careful, or I’ll tell Ronnie.” Thank goodness David doesn’t know the weight of his threat.</p>
<p>Vowing to never tell David how diligently Ronnie is looking out for him, he pulls David closer, kissing him softly as a distraction. “I’m all yours for the rest of the night.”</p>
<p>“Good.” David’s arms tighten around him. He presses a soft kiss to David’s neck, as David pulls them close together. As if on cue, the music changes and the opening notes to ‘Always Be My Baby’ float through the speakers. He hums the words in David’s ear, pushing the words into the nooks and crannies between them.</p>
<p>
  <em>You'll always be a part of me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I'm part of you indefinitely</em>
</p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
<p>David pulls off his new sweater and folds it carefully, setting on the chair in the corner of their bedroom. In the bathroom, Patrick hums to himself as he brushes his teeth. It’s almost two in the morning, neither of them has the will or the stamina to stay up until morning like they had on the night of their wedding, the call of their soft mattress and plush pillows is too much to resist.</p>
<p>He joins Patrick at the sink, taking out his cleanser and moisturizer. He can forgo the rest of his skincare regime for one night. Patrick shuffles aside, giving him room to apply the products, his hand nudging the small of his back when he needs more room to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth. With a last squeeze to his hip, Patrick presses a soft kiss to the base of his neck, leaving him to finish by himself. By the time he comes out of the bathroom, Patrick is tucked into his side of the bed, curled on his side. He flips the covers back for David, waiting until they’re both snuggled in before he switches off the light.</p>
<p>“Do you think we’ll still be in this house in another five years?” Patrick’s voice comes out of the darkness and wraps around him.</p>
<p>“No. Maybe. I’m not sure.” He’s mostly stopped trying to predict the future, wanting to live in the moment. He’s fine either way. As long as he and Patrick go together, it doesn’t matter where they end up.</p>
<p>“Why not?” Amusement fills Patrick’s voice and his hand sneaks under the edge of David’s sleep shirt, resting on his hip as David rolls to face him.</p>
<p>“You want bigger things. We both do. We might grow away from this place.” Maybe in five years they’ll be living in a city somewhere. Or maybe they’ll still be here, sleeping together in this bed. Either possibility feels right. </p>
<p>“Hmm.” Patrick's voice is soft, he’s falling asleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day, his family will leave again, much the same way they did five years ago. This time, he knows what to expect, what kind of life he’ll live in their absence. He’ll miss not having them closer, but he made the right decision to stay.</p>
<p>“I’m so glad we spent the last five years here.” He strokes his hand down Patrick’s arm, tangling their fingers together under the covers.</p>
<p>“Me too.” Patrick is quiet, as though he’s fallen asleep, but then his voice comes out of the darkness. “Wherever we end up, I promise I will make you just as happy as we’ve been in this house.”</p>
<p>The words land like the blow of a hammer, much the way they had five years before. David squeezes Patrick’s hand, trying to put every memory from the past five years and all his hopes for the next five into the clench of his fingers. Bringing their clasped hands to his lips, he releases his husband’s hand just long enough to press a kiss and a promise into his palm. “You fucking better.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who has been part of this journey with me. I have been madly in love with this fic from the very first moment I started to put together my outline and being able to share it has been a gift and a privilege. The world is a toxic garbage fire right now, but it gives me comfort to picture David and Patrick, whether it’s five years from now or fifty, still hot for each other, still stupidly in love as they navigate their life together surrounded by their friends and family. I hope that thought brings you some comfort as well. Stay safe out there, look after each other, and as Moira would say ‘never let the bastards get you down.’ </p>
<p>💙🖤💙</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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